


Beneath the Waters

by AdraCat



Series: To Weather the Dark Collection [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Acting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brigid (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, F/F, Ignorance is bliss?, Insecurity, Monarchy, Morally Ambiguous Character, Politics, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdraCat/pseuds/AdraCat
Summary: Many revelations come to light as a songstress questions the Queen she loves.The waters are deep and dark with secrets, but is it worth braving the depths?(A Brigid tale set within the TWtD continuity)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: To Weather the Dark Collection [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485548
Comments: 38
Kudos: 124





	1. Opening Act: Dead Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This fic takes place sometime after The Theory of Connection. The OCs there will be making an appearance and playing significant roles here so it's very much required reading. As always a huge thank to my beta, johnxfire. I hope you all enjoy~

For Dorothea, there was no greater comfort than the planes of the stage. The patter of wood underfoot. The slide of cloth as she rounded the curtain. The peal of flesh as hands clapped in unison. And the thunder of her heart as exhilaration followed each rehearsed word. It was her greatest love for many years. So she returned to this rehearsed and well-trod role with a smile and clung to its auspices with fervor. Nostalgic and sometimes heavy with melancholy, but ever familiar. Unchanging in rhythm and stride.

“ _Álainn!_ You make for a marvelous lead, Dorothea.”

She stopped mid-step, breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she had forgotten her purpose. The next stanza flitted away as her eyes stilled upon the large figure of her friend. Hagan smiled broadly, the dark glimmer of his eyes appreciative. He stood below the stage, clapping his hands.

“If perfection had a name it would surely be yours. I could not have imagined a better actor to play the lovely Éala,” the man continued. His enthusiasm was a thing keenly felt and Dorothea flushed bright under the praise.

“I don’t know about all that.” She laughed self-consciously and brushed aside her hair. The strands had matted with sweat beneath the Brigid sun, slicking her palm. An open-air stage was very different from the orderly halls of the Mittelfrank. “I nearly tripped on that last note. Singing with perfect Braeilge pronunciation is still beyond my talents.”

“You sounded divine.” Hagan gestured to the stretch of shore behind the stage. “I think they agree!”

Dorothea followed his line of sight to where a cluster of people sat. Their eyes were fixed upon her, captive and admiring. She waved hesitantly and they returned her greeting with broad sweeps of their arms. One man yelled something, but she could not quite understand his meaning. She had come far in her comprehension – and certainly understood more than she spoke – yet the rapid flurry of words was too complex to decipher.

The woman beside him smacked his head after he was done. Suddenly, the group burst into laughter. Their attention soon faded as they chatted among themselves. Dorothea smiled tightly as she turned to her friend.

“Perhaps they enjoyed the performance, but I’m not sure their regard is meant for me.” She slid down from the stage, taking Hagan’s hand when he offered. Dorothea let her expression fade as her toes dug into the sand. “You can enjoy an actor’s talents without thinking a whit of the person behind it all.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t think of a single person who doesn’t adore the incomparable Dorothea. Even Rudd thinks very highly of you, and that is no small thing.” Hagan paused and the weight of his stare filled her with anxiety. "Where have these thoughts come from? Such insecurity is not like you."

A black humor sparked within but Dorothea snuffed it. She plastered a smile and crinkled the corners of her eyes.

“I do sound rather silly, don’t I? Don’t mind me, Hagan. I think I’m just jittery with nerves.” Her tension faded as she took a few steps away from the wooden platform. “It's not every day you perform for the Brigid Dukes.”

“Ah.” Comprehension dawned upon the big man. He scratched the underside of his jaw. “Does their visit trouble you? It shouldn’t. They may groan and whine but our Queen will shield you from their nonsense.”

“That’s a part of my disquiet,” Dorothea admitted. She played with a strand of her hair, twisting it between her fingers. “I want her people – _our_ people – to see me as worthy. I don’t want her to constantly fight my battles. And I don’t want the Dukes to see me as nothing more than a foreign trollop who warms their Queen’s bed.”

“There will be some who think very foolish things. That I cannot deny,” her friend spoke warmly. He laid an affectionate arm around her shoulder. There was something painfully fatherly to the gesture and Dorothea swallowed past the brief melancholy this elicited. “Yet those who see your worth will love you at once. I guarantee this.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Dorothea exhaled slowly. She wasn’t certain as he seemed to be, but she wouldn’t continue to make the man uncomfortable with her worries. “Do you really think my performance was acceptable?”

“More than that, _a chara_. I meant what I said before.” He squeezed her frame against his chest before releasing her with a twirl. “A more perfect Éala there could never be! You play the tragic lady well and her words will be all the sweeter coming from your lips.”

“Oh stop, Hagan!” Dorothea shoved him away with a laugh. “I fear if you don’t, I’ll soon collapse the island from the size of my ego.”

“As you will, my dear _banphrionsa_. However, I think your love would agree with me.”

“I do.”

Dorothea blinked, taken aback by the sudden utterance. She whirled on her heels and faced the person who spoke. And there, dipped in the searing blanket of sunset, was her Petra. The Queen of Brigid stood some distance away, light gathered in her hair and smile. She was always resplendent, but the vestments of her station suited the agile length of her. Combined with the ceremonial arms at her side she was the very image of a Warrior-Queen. The sharp line of her brow gentled as Dorothea met her gaze; lustrous and soft like velvet.

“I was hearing as I approached.” Petra took a step forward and beckoned her forward. Dorothea, helpless beneath her pull, obeyed with ease. She felt her tension vanish as Petra held her close. “You sounded like a daughter of the singing spirit, Maponus. So beautiful... There can be none better.”

“You’re biased.” Dorothea flushed anew, but she didn’t restrain herself as she did with Hagan. Her heart hummed with pleasure from the simple adoration Petra offered. “I was average at best. Pitchy at worst.”

“Do not be so quick to look for fault.” Hagan chuckled and swaggered near. He tipped his head at Petra in respect before addressing Dorothea again. “Take it from me, fretting over a small drizzle is a useless hobby. You will find only storms that way.”

“He is correct, Mo Grá. There is no bettering perfection.” Dorothea watched, breathless, as Petra kissed the back of her hands. The Queen’s lips curved against her skin. “I am looking greatly to the final song. It was always a favorite of mine.”

“Then I will strive to meet your expectations.” Dorothea cleared her throat, attempting not to color further. Petra tipped her head in acknowledgment.

“I am having faith in that.” She fell quiet for a time as her eyes shifted to the sea. Petra wet her lips. It was an oddly nervous gesture for the perpetually assured huntress. "Are you minding if I steal her away, Hagan? Bhí mé ag iarraidh siúl an chladaigh le mo ghrá.”

“Ar ndóigh, a Bhanríon.” The man bowed deeply, the hem of his shirt nearly overlapping his knees. His dark gaze flickered with knowing amusement. “The Mother’s eye is beginning to close anyhow. We shall call it a day and return by the next! Enjoy the evening for me, eh?”

“I’m sure we’ll manage that.” Dorothea fluttered her fingers at him as he departed. He offered a toothy grin before sauntering back to the stage. She felt Petra’s grip tighten around her fingers.

“Come, Mo Grá. Before the Mother blinks and washes away the light.” Petra tugged her gently but insistently towards the south. Dorothea followed at her heels, content to bask in the presence of this woman she adored. After all, there was no better way to pass the eve. Their hands stayed clasped as they moved along the sand, water threatening to lap at their toes.

The heat of midday had lapsed into a pleasant warmth. The Brigid sun was a trial to bear, but she could not bring herself to dislike it. These islands were now her home, from the lunging waves to the sharp hills of green. Even with the salt staining her dress from sweat and sea, Dorothea enjoyed it all. And she enjoyed the company of her Queen above everything. As if sensing her airy musings, Petra tightened her grip.

Dorothea smiled to herself, assured of the life she had found here. Perhaps some thought of her as nothing more than an ambitious songbird from the Empire. Yet it was not them who she needed to appease. Petra loved her. Surely, that was all she needed to be concerned with. Dorothea stole a glance at her love. The other woman looked atypically pensive, brow tight with unknown thoughts.

“It's good you came when you did," Dorothea began. She swung their clasped hands idly, her previous insecurities distant. "Poor Hagan. I was a bit of a bear to deal with today. I think I might have added a few more streaks of grey to his chin."

“You are never a bear. Even in your rages, you are kind." The younger woman's voice was strong and direct. Mayhaps perfect comprehension was still a distant reality for the both of them, but Petra had come far from the fumbling sentences of her youth. Dorothea allowed herself a glimmer of fond nostalgia. Young Petra would have likely not have understood her meaning; literal-minded as she had been. However, that girl was gone, and in her place was a woman Dorothea was proud to know.

“The sweetest roses often have the sharpest thorns. It’s by design, you see.” She giggled, girlish and airy. Formerly feigned for others, but all too authentic now. "I may be soft as petals for you, but that’s only because you’re too wonderful for me to find fault with.”

“Then I am hoping to never change.” Petra halted, features twisted with trepidation. “That is reminding me. When we return to the Castle, I advise caution around the Dukes.”

“Whatever for?”

Petra’s mouth pinched. Her cheek flexed as she appeared to think.

“They... may not be respecting of you. My family rules them, but they are still men of tradition. And also great _cumhacht._ Pull and reach.”

“So they’re very influential.” Dorothea dug her feet beneath the coarse sand as she pondered this. “I didn’t think anyone in Brigid had as much sway as the royal family.”

“They do not, but the Dukes still hold enough to be like an ant in the ointment.” Petra scowled deeply. It was a look that shouldn’t have been cute considering the context but Dorothea defined it as such regardless. “We are all suited for different things. As the largest Oileán, Sionnach is for farms and livestock. Due to this, my family is known for providing. The others have their purposes too."

“I think I understand. Brigid is a nation divided in its resources and thus divided in its governance.” Dorothea frowned, suddenly anxious. “They won’t cause trouble for you, will they? In the event they do not accept me as your intended.”

“It does not matter. I am Queen and my worth was accepted by the Mother. They will not be wishing to earn my anger.” Petra shook her head. She tossed a braid over her shoulder curtly. The movement was strangely reminiscent of another royal Dorothea adored. “I only fear they may bite at you instead. Please, have caution with them. If they say anything or make strange demands of you––”

“Oh don’t worry. If they try anything untoward, I’ll be ready with a diplomatic slap!” Dorothea clapped her hands pointedly before fluttering her lashes. “Why, Duke So-and-So, I don’t recall allowing you to take such liberties with me. Shall I introduce you to the flat of my palm? Perhaps a singe of the rump?”

Petra laughed and leaned in to kiss the taller woman’s cheek.

“Mo Grá, you have great charm when you threaten. I have little worries now. Still, maybe allow a day to pass before treading near them.”

“An easy enough task.” Dorothea smiled brightly, taking a step closer. She kissed her lover fully, savoring the feel of her skin and the tickle of braided hair. She trailed her fingers across the lean sculpt of Petra’s arms. The Queen sighed against her mouth and Dorothea knew she had succeeded in distracting her. Stress didn’t suit either of them. So she would strive to make them both happy with frivolous pursuits and laughter aplenty.

Dorothea was quite practiced at that.

* * *

One thing the Adrestian woman was very thankful for was Brigid’s relaxed sense of formality. The royal family was not one for airs of superiority or grandeur. They ruled temperately and modestly, the castle being the only extravagance they flaunted. Their servants were not the indentured or scraping posts of those witnessed in Fόdlan. The people appeared honestly and wholeheartedly dedicated to the Macnearys which was something Dorothea took great heart in. She would have loved Petra regardless but it soothed her nerves to know she was marrying into a dynasty of benevolence and not tyranny.

Yet for the first time, there was a palpable unease within the castle walls upon their return. The familiar faces of the Macneary staff were drawn, mirroring Petra’s strange demeanor on the beach. They watched the two women like hawks at sea, flitting across the stones with no apparent purpose. Perhaps shying from the Queen’s shadow? Dorothea felt a clench in her stomach, all at once sensing that not everything was as it seemed. The feeling intensified as she spotted the figures talking in hushed voices by the hearth.

She recognized Petra’s grandfather easily, the braided collection of indigo hair spotted above the rest. The former King was not pleased by the look of him, a thunderclap of ire brewing in his dark features. His head jerked towards them as the women neared and he smiled. Swiftly, the man formed an odd gesture with his hands before stalking away. From the miffed expressions of the two fellows he had been conversing with, it was likely something rude. Dorothea heard Petra suppress a short laugh. _Something_ _ **very**_ _rude, then._

One of the other men exhaled audibly before cutting his eyes to the Queen. His lips flattened with perceived distaste, but that did not stop him from bowing deep. His companion followed with a reverent thump of his chest. The first man moved to speak and Dorothea struggled to translate without pause.

“ _ **Warm greetings upon you, Queen Petra.**_ _**I hope you have been well.**_ ”

“ _ **I have. All of Clan Macneary is strong and able**_ ,” Petra responded mildly. Dorothea held back a smile as the other woman settled a hand around her hip. The presumed Duke wrinkled his nose but did not comment further. Dorothea swept her eyes across the two men. The first was dressed finely and meticulously; a sign of undeniable self-importance. He was rather squat, reaching only to Petra’s ear. The second was robust in frame and stoic of face. He was dressed less finely than his companion and held Petra's stare without noticeable strain. The man tipped his head in Dorothea’s direction once he noticed her, and Dorothea immediately liked him for it.

“ _ **We spoke with your grandfather. He was very insistent you should greet us. His deference is wise.**_ _”_ The Duke did not quite smile but the corner of his mouth lifted wryly. “ _ **Eagan has not lost his pointed tongue. I will miss hearing him speak at hustings.**_ ”

“ _ **We hurried to heed your summons, but foul seas have left us**_ _caillte_ _ **.**_ _” Lost? Perhaps in this context, he means adrift._ The first Duke cleared his throat, tugging at his bristled chin. His beard was a patchwork affair of iron-streaked hair. Though whether it was from simple age or stress, Dorothea couldn’t say. Petra crossed her arms, gripping her biceps. The taller woman could feel the alarm brewing beneath her lover’s calm demeanor.

“ _ **Duke Neachtan. Duke Tadhg.**_ _**The sky is clear yet you bring news of a storm. Explain yourselves.**_ _”_

“ _ **Both me and Duke Neachtan are here in your name**_ _,”_ said the second Duke. “ _ **However, the other two refused to line their ships with ours. They do not follow, my Queen.**_ _”_

“ _ **And you fear ill-winds. For me or them?**_ _”_ Petra shifted her weight, spine rigid. The first man raised his chin as he leered at the Queen. Dorothea bristled at the condescension she sensed from him.

“ _ **There would be very little difference.**_ _ **However,**_ _ **we are here so keep that in mind.**_ ” His ocher stare flicked to the taller woman briefly. “ _ **I do not think a foreigner would enjoy hearing the details of this dispute. We should speak alone.**_ ”

Dorothea narrowed her eyes, affronted by the implication. She looked to her lover, expecting Petra to leap to her defense. She did it often enough without any prompting. However, Petra did not seem put out by the request. The Queen’s jaw flexed as she thought. Then, her shoulders dipped and she glanced apologetically at the taller woman.

“Forgive me, Mo Grá. He is right in asking this.” Petra sighed and placed a consoling kiss on Dorothea's hand. "There is much to be discussing. You should eat and rest. I will be joining later when I can."

“Well… alright.” Dorothea slouched, the wind of indignity taken from her. She did not miss the satisfied expression of the first man. _Duke Neachtan, is it? I’ll remember that one._ She held back from glowering at him. Now was the time for a graceful exit befitting of a lady. Any perceived pettiness would reflect negatively upon her Petra. Still, Dorothea refrained from offering courtesy and placed a familiar kiss upon her lover's head. With a dip of respect to the politer Duke, she took her leave. A girl had to keep her pride, after all.

Dorothea heaved a sigh once she was well out of sight. She licked her lips, beset once more with concern. Unless she made a gaff in translating, the Duke’s words were unquestionably foreboding. By her count, only half of them had heeded Petra’s call. Did that mean the others intended to oppose the Queen? Dorothea balled a hand into the folds of her dress.

Not for the first time, she wished Edie were here. The Emperor was skilled in statecraft and comprehended the delicate game of power struggles that came with a crown. On her own, Dorothea understood very little. Even the professor, odd and seemingly alien to propriety, grasped the intricacies of ruling. If either woman were in her shoes they would surely know how to act.

Dorothea blinked, banishing those self-defeating thoughts from her mind. There was no point in considering baseless hypotheticals. Petra was a capable ruler, groomed for this role all her life. She would know what to do. Dorothea just needed to have patience and allow her love to act as the Queen she knew her to be.

Content with her decision, the Adrestian woman retired to their quarters. The day had been long and she could use some rest. Perhaps she would busy herself with practicing in the meantime. The role Éala required full commitment. Yet as she rehearsed in the lonesome walls of their room, Dorothea found herself bereft of inspiration. Her words lacked heart; her songs lacked strength. And the fervor she expected to feel never warmed her breast.

The mirror she stood in front of held nothing save her ruffled features, hair in disarray. She could not summon any particular enthusiasm to act for herself. The face she saw appeared incredibly pale, stretched thin upon the concave surface. Aggravated, Dorothea quit the pretense and wandered to the vanity. She sat upon the stool and stared at the various oils and powders.

It took great work to form a mask she was comfortable with. Greater work still to never let it slip. All it took was a fraction of a moment and all that trouble would be for naught. Dorothea wondered faintly if Petra would care if she reappeared at her side, clean of all artifice. She winced, loathing the pitiful roads her mind took her within these silent moments. It was not becoming of the woman she needed to be – let alone the partner a Queen deserved. Dorothea busied her hands, fetching the pen and inkwell.

It had been some time since she wrote to her friends. It would do her good to sort out her feelings on paper rather than in her head. So Dorothea began the arduous task of composing letter after letter. The first would be for Bernadetta. She hadn’t heard a peep from her in recent months; a somewhat worrisome event considering the younger woman’s propensity to isolate herself. Perchance Bern was merely wrapped in her duties. In any case, Dorothea was certain the Countess could use a warm letter from a friend.

The next few were rapid and succinct. Linhardt and Hubert were not people she was especially close with but she knew they both enjoyed learning about the on-goings of Brigid. The former’s was more of an academic interest, and she provided little factual details that would assuage his eternal curiosity. Hubert’s, by comparison, was a great deal more insidious in nature. The last letter she received from him was almost entirely dedicated to asking after the political and socio-economic structure of the archipelago. She expected as much, but it was still jarring to experience an interrogation in written form. _I suppose I can’t fault Hubie for being Hubie._ She finished his letter with a quick update on the Dukes before setting it aside.

Ferdinand’s letter took a bit more consideration to pen. Their relationship was hardly strained, but it was a little surreal to think of him in amicable terms. Nonetheless, ever since the war had ended Dorothea found herself as his de facto advisor of sorts. The man – while outwardly confident – was a mess when it concerned his relationships. Most of all when it came to Hubie. News of their courtship had taken her by surprise, but after she gave it some thought Dorothea realized the match was quite sensible. Dedicated to the Empire as they were, was it so strange they would find favor with each other too? They were alike in the most important ways and complimentary in their differences. With Edie at the helm and them as her wings, the Empire was in good hands.

After getting through the majority of her planned correspondence, Dorothea dipped her quill into the ink only to find it near dry. She clicked her tongue before rising. Both Edie and Manuela’s envelopes were going to be bursting with pages and she would need the well as full as possible. She bustled over to the wardrobe where they kept their various personal effects. Yet as she scanned the space, there was no spare ink well to be found. Dorothea scowled and dug deeper within.

Suddenly, her hand passed against something cool and smooth. Triumphant, she curled her fingers and tugged the object from beneath a wool blanket. However, it was not a vial of ink as she thought it would be. A crystalline dagger lay in her palm, refracting the gentle candlelight. It glittered between her fingers as she passed a thumb along its length. The blade lacked an edge, colored in searing hues of purple and copper.

 _Adrestian Glass_ , Dorothea recognized dimly. Had Petra imported this? Her love had expressed great interest in it as she recalled. Still, it wasn’t like Petra to seek such an expensive bauble of her own volition. Dorothea sought under the blanket she took it from and found a folded piece of parchment. Her eyes over it curiously. The seal of House Hresvelg lay upon its edge, broken and crumbling.

 _So it had been a gift from Edie._ Dorothea smiled as she unfurled the sheet. The Emperor’s aristocratic scrawl greeted her stare as she read.

_It took me a great deal of thought before I settled on a gift worthy of a Queen. As you are aware, the ties that bound you to my service were ones forged from the blood of our countries. Yours, most of all. It pains me to know how much was taken from you, but I am a woman who recognizes loyalty. And I do not fear the bite of your family as my father did. We are friends and I pay my debts with grace. So I gift this dagger to you in good faith, severing the cord of Brigid servitude._

“My, Edie, you certainly have a flair for the theatrical.” Dorothea hummed thoughtfully, scanning the remainder with dim interest. Most of it was just the boring technicalities of one ruler to another – trade agreements, taxes, and other some such drivel. She was poised to tuck away the parchment when the last few sentences caught her eye.

_...As for the dagger itself, I confess to it being inspired by one of your long-standing traditions. I am woefully ignorant to the vast majority of Brigid culture but Byleth is keen on it. I considered commissioning a tea set – like the one you admired so long ago – but after speaking to my General, I think this gift is more appropriate. Faerghus has a similar tradition, if somewhat changed in its context. However, I want you to know the blood you shed in my name will never be forgotten._

_— Edelgard von Hresvelg_

Dorothea pursed her lips, unnerved. She rolled the parchment and shoved it beneath the blanket once more. The glass blade quickly followed. She didn’t like to be reminded of the war for any reason. It was a dark and trying time for them all. Dorothea knew she carried its scars deeper than the others, though she would never reveal the scope. Still, the phrasing here was strange. What ‘long-standing tradition’ could Edelgard be referring to? And why mention the war in this context? Dorothea couldn’t make sense of it. _I’m not sure I want to,_ she thought with a shiver.

There were many terrible things done during those years. Some of it, she was aware the Emperor kept heavily concealed for a reason. Dorothea might trust Edie with her life, but that didn’t mean they always saw eye-to-eye where ethics was concerned. Yet when it came to Petra…

Her love. Her princess and now Queen. The woman who always held a kind word and a comforting touch. The steadying hand she needed after her world was upended by a dragon’s wail. Petra; the dearest friend who always held her so gently and looked at her with love unending.

_What dark secrets could she be hiding?_

Dorothea buried the notion deep within, unwilling to consider it. Not here and now. Not where they slept and held each other through the night. She would not poison their home with such ungracious notions. Petra was fair and just. She did not kill without reason and never beyond the battlefield. Whatever she had done to earn this dagger, it was not the monstrous actions she feared. It couldn’t be. Edie… Surely, Edie would have told her. And Petra was not capable of hiding something so heinous.

Dorothea shut the wardrobe with a firm click. She flitted to the dresser in search of more ink, ignoring the frantic beat of her heart. It was just her being silly as always. That was all.

* * *

In the sun-drenched warmth of the Brigid climate, it was difficult to notice the changing of the seasons. One barely noticed as autumn slid into winter, the clinging humidity just as heavy as the prior months. Normally, the heat was a welcome friend. Dorothea had spent her youth huddled in the streets, cloaked in threadbare cloth. Winters in Enbarr were not the frozen wastelands of northern Faerghus, but they were still keenly felt by those lacking in shelter. Yet those days were beyond her now, and she never had to feel the gnawing ache of winter again.

However, on this night, Dorothea found herself shivering beneath the covers. The royal chamber faced the sea, poised above the waves. She could hear the raucous clash of water against rock; a sound that had previously brought peace eliciting sharp disquiet. With the balcony doors open, the breeze raced inside and curled around the bed. It tickled her ankles in an invasive slide. She huddled deeper under the furs, unable to sleep with the chill collected in her bones. This cold was unnatural, not borne from any wintry storm or passing gale.

Nay, this was a bone-deep dread that reminded her of days spent lost to uncertainty – never knowing what trial might come next nor where she would lay her head. And just like then, her body refused to rest. Dorothea exhaled into her pillow, tossing amid the sheets. She yearned for the steadying warmth of her lover; ached to hear the wispy breaths that hovered between snore and silence. Yet Petra was not here, and her only companion was the specter of thought.

A seemingly endless passage of time ensued. Slow and steady like the rolling thunder of the ocean. Then, mercifully, the stillness finally broke. A shadow crept within the room, falling over her eyes. Dorothea stirred, relieved as she spotted the gleam of plum strands. Petra had finally returned. The Queen was soft-footed as she moved, no doubt to avoid waking her lover. But Dorothea was not of a mind to go with the pretense. She darted up, clearly startling the younger woman.

“Dorothea...” Petra’s expression fell with contrition. “I was not meaning to wake you. Forgive me.”

“Don’t worry. You didn’t wake me at all.” The Adrestian woman tucked her knees beneath her arms. “Truthfully, I was having trouble sleeping. Our bed isn’t the same without you.”

“I am gladdened to hear this. Odd as that sounds.” Petra smiled softly before drawing closer. She sat on the edge, palm flat against the mattress. “I hate thinking you cannot rest, but there is a comfort to knowing you missed me. When you are gone from my sight, I feel the same.”

“You definitely know how to sweet-talk a girl," Dorothea commented with a titter. The Queen’s eyes crinkled with mirth.

“It is only truth. I am never saying lies. Not to you.” Petra stilled, and the brief quiet was tinted with something unknown. Dorothea could not see her features in full. She attempted to decipher the strange twist to the corner of Petra’s lips. “I am sorry I was gone long. The Dukes had much to say. Some of it already known to me, but most of it not.”

“Terrible news?”

The Queen blinked. The glow of her iris vanished as she looked away.

“The Dukes who have come, they revealed a truth I had long suspected. I was just not wanting to embrace it.” Petra swallowed, the faint convulsion barely seen through the dark. “It is not a pleasant thing, Mo Grá. Please, let us sleep. We can think on this another time.”

“Petra.” Dorothea squinted, trying to discern her lover’s tone. Exhaustion lay within every word, but so did a palpable tension. “...Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something from me? Not just now, but on the beach earlier as well.”

“Mo—”

“Tell me I’m mistaken and we can retire for the night,” she continued, brokering no exception. Petra appeared to sense the gravity of her request and visibly slumped. She placed a palm to her brow, exhaling.

“I was not wishing to worry you. But I see it is too late for such things. I am apologizing for that.” The Queen glanced up and met her stare. “I was not having entire honesty before. The Dukes are not pleased with my family. They have not been for many years.”

“What does that mean?” Dread curled like ice within Dorothea’s stomach. “Are you saying they hate your family?”

“It is not as simple as hatred. The issue has great complexity.” Petra cringed, evidently reluctant to continue. She pressed on regardless, eyeing Dorothea for her reaction. “Everything was beginning with my grandfather when he commanded armies across the sea against their wishes. They were not wanting to war against the Empire. He pressed them into obeying. It is an action many view as foolish.”

“Considering the outcome, I should say so.”

“Yes. He was blind to their warnings. Blind to any better judgment. He was wanting more than his reach and it cost him greatly.” A tremor rocked the younger woman’s shoulders. “My father, yes. But also the respect of the Dukes. For all the war he raged, he still knelt. That action more than anything robbed him of worth in their eyes.”

“I find it odd they would scorn him for kneeling. I thought they wanted nothing to do with the war. Why find fault with the prospect of peace?” Dorothea frowned deeply as she mulled it over. Her lover shifted atop the covers, looking distinctly uneasy.

“It was being his right to command them as King and leader. The Mother’s will is carried by him at all times. That he would concede all of this to another… it is _botún do-mhaite_. An unforgivable action.”

“That’s all well and truly terrible, but your grandfather isn’t the King anymore. Whatever his mistakes, they should not reflect upon you.”

“You are forgetting, Mo Grá.” Petra’s mouth slanted with melancholy. “My grandfather is not the only kneeler. I submitted to an Emperor as he did. To them, I am worse for choosing it willingly.”

“That’s ridiculous! How can they blame you for something you had no choice in? They couldn’t have expected you to raise arms against the Empire. That would have been more idiotic than anything your grandfather did." Dorothea fumed, indignant on her lover's behalf. "No offense meant, of course.”

“It is fine. Even he has admitted his actions were wrong.” The Queen shook her head, staring grimly at her fingers. “It is done now. The only thing I am knowing is that Neachtan and Tadhg are still loyal. If they were not, they would have joined the others in ignoring my summons. But the other two defy me and this cannot stand.”

“Hold on, love. You don’t need to be so hasty. Perhaps it’s some sort of misunderstanding. They could be busy or—”

“Busy? I am their _Queen_.” Petra stiffened and the corded length of her arm flexed as she fisted the sheets. Her eyes flashed with fire. “They deny me. They _mock_ my family. And now they are plotting in shadows, lying in wait like sharks.”

“You think their absence means treason?” Dorothea flinched back beneath the weight of her lover’s wroth. She had never seen Petra this incensed – had barely seen her angry much at all. However, the telltale bunch of her jaw did not lie. Anger raged within every word she spoke.

“I am knowing they are. Tadhg and Neachtan are being certain. Their words hold no falseness.” The Queen breathed in deeply, holding it for a time. The mask of fury she so easily donned faded. “It will be dealt with soon. I am knowing this as well.”

“Petra…” Dorothea reached for her hesitantly. The huntress’s hand was cold to the touch. Those dark features did not melt, but the severity of her stare gentled.

“Do not be scared, Mo Grá. I did not tell you these matters to worry you.” Petra rested a palm against Dorothea’s cheek. The caress was gentle as ever, but the heat was missing. “We should be sleeping. The coming day will be long for both of us.”

Dorothea wasn’t sure what she meant by that. However, she trusted Petra and knew she was right. This wasn’t a matter for her to trouble herself over. Still, her mind turned with nagging apprehension. She fretted over what it would mean for Petra if these men had enough power to stir the waters. A ruler was only as such when people chose to follow. Petra had earned her throne during _an Turas,_ but if these Dukes refused to acknowledge that… could Brigid sink into war? The Adrestian woman clung to her lover’s frame, feeling the chill of an approaching storm.

 _I will go with her,_ Dorothea decided suddenly. _We can talk to these men; convince them. We must._ Not everything needed to end in blood and steel. Whatever their grievances against the ruling family, the Duke’s couldn’t have been beyond reason. Dorothea was sure they would see Petra’s worth as Queen once they spoke. Yes… They could solve this peacefully together.

* * *

The next morning, Dorothea found herself alone. Petra was nowhere in sight and her side of the bed was woefully cold. Despite falling to sleep late in the night, the Queen had woken long before her. The revelation was troubling, as was the emptiness of the castle itself. She did not know if this boded ill, but Dorothea was not willing to consider it further. Petra often woke before the first swathe of dawn; a remnant from her days of imperial service. Now, as a monarch in her own right, the woman still kept odd hours. It was just the reality of managing a Kingdom.

Dorothea walked the halls, determined to go about her day as usual. Perhaps Petra was merely catching morning meal or doing sword-play with the castle guard. Ever since Edie and Byleth visited, she had become invested in practicing her forms. Dorothea didn’t quite understand it, but she knew warriors like them were inspired by each other’s prowess. In particular, Petra seemed resolute in surpassing their former professor.

So to say Dorothea was surprised by her lover’s absence from the training hall would be an understatement. She looked in every wing and corridor, diving deep into the library and even the kitchen. Yet still, she could not find her. Dorothea stepped out on the southernmost balcony, scanning the land below. The gardens were similarly deserted. She was ready to leave and continue her search elsewhere when she spotted a lone figure on the beach.

Dorothea smiled, relieved. A refreshing morning swim would be just like the other woman. She hurried down the flights of stairs, eager to join her lover on the beach. However, the person she found upon the sand was not Petra at all. It was Petra’s grandfather, Eagan, staring over the waves with curious attentiveness. Dorothea slid to a halt, expression falling. She didn’t disdain the man – for they had come far from their initial strained interactions – but he wasn’t who she wished to find. Eagan’s head tilted towards her.

“Ba mhaith liom a bheith liom féin. Fág mé.” Eyes, darker than Petra’s, cut to her. “Ah, it is you. Forgive my curt words, Dorothea _._ ”

“Oh, I wasn’t offended.” The Adrestian woman paused. “Pardon me. I mean... Níl aon chion orm.”

"Let us speak in the manner you are most accustomed to. I do not have the patience to suffer your butchered attempts today." Eagan chuckled, his amicable tone belying the sharp words he spoke. “What brings you to me?”

"Nothing at all. I spotted someone on the beach and assumed it would be Petra.” Dorothea stepped hesitantly by his side. She joined him in scanning the sea. “She rose earlier than usual. I thought maybe she had gone for a swim, but I see I was mistaken."

“Petra is tending to Kingdom matters. The Mother requires her to act as Queen today.” The elderly man thumbed his plaited beard, thoughtful. “It is a hard burden to bear and an even greater responsibility.”

“I know. I suppose I just miss the days when we could explore the island without a care.” Dorothea sighed. “I sound silly, don’t I? Please ignore me.”

“It is not ‘silly’ to miss what once was. However, there will be time for rest another day.” Eagan glanced at her sidelong before focusing on the castle. “Did you happen to run into our esteemed guests?”

“If you mean the Dukes, not at all.”

“Good. Then they are being genuine in their loyalties.” He sniffed. “Had they accosted you, it would be a different story. Yet it seems they are set on keeping faith with the crown. A boon in their favor.”

“I didn’t realize that was something to be afraid of,” Dorothea commented hesitantly. The man’s weathered face pulled with bemusement.

“You are the Queen’s _geallta._ Her future wife and greatest weakness. Anyone who sought to cripple her would go after you first. Thankfully, the Dukes have yet to do so. With Petra gone from Sionnach, this would have been the best time to strike.”

“I don't like thinking of myself as a potential weapon against her." Dorothea muffled a scowl but stilled as the last few words registered. "Wait. She's not on Sionnach? Then where is she?"

“She has sailed to Na Siúracha. Diúc Dubheasa’s domain. Of the two, he is the most troublesome and must be dealt with quickly.”

“I was under the impression she would consider her options a bit more.” The woman clutched at her dress nervously. “Well, I suppose going to see them for a chat isn’t a terrible idea. Still, I had hoped to go with her.”

“And do what? Stand there gamely as they talk over your head?”

Dorothea flinched and the man appeared momentarily contrite. A rumbling exhale tore from his lips.

“If it is Petra you are concerned for, do not be. She will handle this with the pride and strength of a Queen. She will return to you when it is done.”

“Alright.” Dorothea took a steadying breath before releasing it. She forced her anxiety to quell. “Na Siúracha... That means 'the Sisters'. Is that the cluster of islands to the north?"

“Just so. Brigid’s agriculture is tied to Sionnach. Therefore, there is not enough land to manage military affairs such as shipyards or barracks. That’s where Na Siúracha’s purpose shines. But this also gives Dubheasa great sway, and he is well-respected among our soldiers.” A dark shadow passed over Eagan’s brow. “The man styles himself the Warrior-King Ruairí come again. For that audacity alone he needs to be punished.”

“He certainly sounds like the sort to constantly test his boundaries.” Suddenly, the information she learned the previous night came to her. “Petra told me the Dukes don’t respect her because she knelt for Edelgard. Is that true?”

“For the most part, yes. There are other factors at play that contribute to their disfavor.” Eagan chewed on his tongue as he pondered. Eventually, he seemed to arrive at some private conclusion. “Has Petra told you of my actions during the war?”

“She said you forced them to fight and they resented you for it.”

“This is true. I was confident I could lead the isles to a glorious victory. To conquer a country as large and wealthy as Adrestia would declare Brigid a nation to be feared. Or so I thought.” The man grimaced, wrinkled visage contorting. “I was rash; vainglorious. In the end, my foolishness cost me my family. My son and, for a time, my granddaughter. I see the hunger I once held in Dubheasa. His father was the one who led Na Siúracha all those years ago, but he lacks the same temperance. A man like him will not settle for less than what he believes to be his.”

“If you think that then why allow Petra to go alone?” Dorothea stiffened, a fresh wave of panic suffusing her. “Will he attempt to hurt her? If so, we should—”

“Níl, Dorothea. I do not fear that at all.” Eagan lashed a tongue over his teeth and grinned fiercely. It was not a pleasant expression. “Dubheasa will not get the chance. He has decided to work in shadows and will be dealt with the same. When a challenge is made under the Mother’s pale eye, the rules of men are broken.”

“What are you saying?” A cold finger of dread raked down her spine. “Petra…”

“—Is acting as Queen. I told you this from the start.” The man stared at her with something akin to pity. “Fulaing an Stoirm. Petra will return, bathed in his blood. Of this, I am sure.”

“You don’t know that.” The words of house Macneary rang in her head. Suffer the Storm. It had seemed so regal and mysterious once. A phrase bearing both warning and danger. She had thought of it as nothing more than ornamentation; the same as a scarecrow. But it had always been a very real threat, hadn’t it? Her chest tightened with fear. “Petra is _not_ a murderer.”

Yet even as the words left her tongue, she recalled the parchment she found, the cryptic wording the Emperor had used, and the dagger supposedly steeped in symbolism.

_...the blood you shed in my name will never be forgotten._

Distantly, she recalled the Petra’s frequent absences during the war.

_Edelgard, smiling secretively within the garden gazebo. Layered talks of love, tea, and friendship. And her – confused and impatient – as Petra was called away by Hubert. Hunting, they would say; always hunting. But had they ever defined the prey?_

Dorothea fled, heart in her throat. She felt Eagan’s eyes upon her back but spared no thought for him. Horror burned in her veins, scalding each step she took across the sand.

* * *

In the winding streets of Enbarr, Dorothea learned how to hide effectively. Most people would assume the key to going unnoticed was speed, but the best method was to make yourself small; meek. A person did not notice a starving, pauper girl because they had nothing to gain from her. Save those with monstrous proclivities, but Dorothea had been clever. She played docile in her spite and courted friendships with people who might elevate and protect her.

Until the moment she was brought into the Mittelfrank by Manuela. There, she earned respect on her merits and was introduced to a world never dreamed of. Yet it was forever a careful dance of behaving as required. Smile in just the right way. Laugh at the dullest of humor. With just a slide of a hand and flutter of lashes, any heart could be snared. Was it any wonder she took to acting? It was a skill Dorothea had nurtured since she knew the true meaning of hunger.

And as she played these games, she learned the stories that amused the world. Dramatic, elaborate things with characters both flawed and grand. Men, bold and courageous, who earned adoration through feats of strength. Men, stalwart and loyal, that never faltered beneath the weight of crown or duty. But the women? Ever tragic and prone to the most ridiculous of extremes. Innocence juxtaposed against villainy. The chaste and mild dogged by malicious hags.

Women... Either a prize to be won or held as a cautionary tale. There was little justice to that, but Dorothea was not a moralist. And one day, she realized this was how she would crawl out from the filth. Because this was what people _wanted_. They desired a woman just like the maids in an opera; gracious, elegant, and sympathetic. A damsel who could sing as beautiful as a meadowlark with a face to match. Someone soft and pliable, unwilling to upset the egos of noblemen.

Of course, Dorothea could not entirely bury her contempt. She grew to loathe the adoring faces she saw and the people who asked for her hand. These handsome and wealthy scions knew nothing of her. They loved a mask she carved from the bones of her dignity. Love could never spring from such destruction. Yet she continued to try, thinking maybe... _Just maybe, if I can tolerate a little more, I’ll be content._

After all, what use did she have for pride? Such things were for girls who had the luxury of choice. The women in the songs and stories got their happy ending by being good and true. However, Dorothea didn’t need _true_ love. All she desired was a fraction of their happiness. A roof over her head, a meal in her stomach, and a hand to hold through the night that she did not despise. Yet time and time again, Dorothea could not settle on a suitor.

_This one was too smug and pious. This one too slow and dim-witted. This one on the brink of disinheritance, and this one too lecherous._

She had thought herself too preoccupied with the war at the time, but the truth of the matter was that Dorothea wanted more. Petra; a foreign princess who couldn't have been more disparate. _Oh_ , but how kind she had been. The girl’s stare was warm and constant; direct in ways Fόdlan nobility could not match. She had been young – far too much for Dorothea to initially consider. But throughout the years her regard grew. Before her eyes, an uncertain young girl transformed into a self-assured woman. All it took was a single moment for that realization to spark. With a scant meeting of hands above tea and sweets, Dorothea saw the potential for love. Then, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, it bloomed with ease.

It had been a dream to learn this magnificent and wonderful princess wanted her in return. More than that, it had been galvanizing to hear Petra desired to bring her home. _This is it_ , she remembered thinking. _A happy ending fit for a fairytale._ Perhaps the role she had imagined for herself was a little different, but a gentle princess for a beau was far better than a waspish prince. She did not need to sacrifice bits of herself to become the perfect lady — not when Petra loved her as she was. At last, Dorothea could have the life she had always dreamed of. All while experiencing a love she had been certain only existed in fiction.

But what sort of person would she be if that happiness was built on the blood of innocents? Could she truly turn away from such an ugly reality if it meant retaining her joy?

Dorothea watched from the balcony of the royal chamber as a boat slowly pulled into shore. It was Petra’s, the sail bearing the clan crest of Macneary; two proud and snarling merlions surrounding a crowned anchor. Pale, painted fingers gripped the balcony as the Queen leapt onto the dock. She was clothed discreetly, plain and dark. A bow was wrapped around her shoulder neatly, but that was not so unusual.

However, the rigid cast to Petra’s features was irregular. The woman’s frame appeared wound tight, seen in every cutting jerk of her arms as she tied the sail. Dorothea could not decipher the expression her lover wore from this distance, yet the tense set of her shoulders revealed plenty. Abruptly, Petra faced the castle. The Queen stared at where the Adrestian woman was standing.

Dorothea nearly moved to wave when a cloud fell across the shore. It obscured everything beneath, shadowing sand and sea. The Queen remained inert as it passed. There was a jarring stillness to the woman, as if she had become part of the landscape. And the longer she did not stir the more frightful and unknown she seemed.

In the end, Dorothea forced herself to look away. She could not bear to see her Petra as this strange, incomprehensible thing. Because she knew then – bone-deep and undeniable – that everything was true. The Queen had slaughtered a man today; cold-blooded and unjustly. Just as she had possibly done for the Emperor and kept hidden for years.

Eventually, the door to their room opened. Yet unlike the previous night, Dorothea did not rise to greet her. She laid in their bed silently, eyes fixed upon the arched ceiling. Petra said nothing for a long while, but Dorothea could hear the metallic clink of buckles and the squeak of leather. Then the bed dipped under the Queen’s weight as she crawled into bed. Dorothea struggled not to flinch as Petra wrapped an arm around her waist. She felt the younger woman still, breath halting.

“...Mo Grá? You are awake.” It was not a question. Dorothea swallowed before facing her love. Petra’s face was revealed to her, as lovely and striking as she had ever been. She smiled, exhausted but full of affection. Dorothea could not bear it.

“I am,” she said weakly. The actress returned the Queen’s smile, but it felt painfully hollow. Petra seemed to sense that as well. Her lover’s expression changed, suddenly tight with concern.

“Are you well? You sound as if you are sick.”

“No, I just…” Dorothea’s voice faded, losing strength mid-protest. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I didn’t know you would be gone today. Your grandfather told me you sailed to Na Siúracha.”

Something sharp and unpleasant darkened Petra’s face. It reminded her faintly of Eagan’s unnerving smile. Then it vanished just as fast.

“I did. The Duke there refused to greet me and so I needed to hear why. But he refused me again.” Petra averted her gaze. “...It was a challenge to me. And I had to answer this challenge with one of mine.”

“And did you have him killed for that?” Dorothea asked, mouth dry and words crisp. Petra's surprise was visceral, a physical thing that rocked her frame and widened her eyes. Her mouth parted, lips rising above teeth before pursing tight. She stood, hands clenched.

“Who told you?”

The confirmation was not a shock, but it remained a devastating blow. Dorothea placed a hand over her mouth, hair falling over her eyes. A mournful ache settled in her chest.

“You _murdered_ him. I can’t... Petra—”

“It was grandfather, was it not? He should not have told you this. It is not being his place.” The Queen spoke between her teeth, clearly agitated. She rubbed her face with both hands before spinning on her heel. “Dorothea, I had never wanted you to—”

“To know? To question? To wait obliviously as you...” Dorothea stopped herself short, not wishing to say something she might regret. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I know I don’t always understand your customs nor am I learned in how to rule a country, but this isn’t something I can embrace so easily. What were you _thinking_?”

“I was thinking of Brigid. I am always thinking of my home. My family.” The Queen breathed in slowly before returning to the bed. She sat heavily upon the mattress, visibly tired. “He was threatening that, Mo Grá. I could not be allowing this. As Queen, I must act to protect what is mine.”

“By slaying someone without a second thought?”

“If I had not then it would my corpse to bury.”

Dorothea grimaced at the possibility. She shivered and Petra moved near. Strong hands held her close to the Queen. Dorothea, even lost within her grief and conflicted anger, did not have the heart to push her away. Petra looked at her earnestly, dark eyes glittering with regret.

“Please, hear me. It is not an easy thing to accept. I am knowing this. But I do not act with hate. His death was a burden I must take for the good of my country.”

“I don’t know...” Dorothea could not meet her lover’s gaze. She focused on the edge of Petra’s ear, hearing the roar of a thrashing tide in the distance. “Was this really the only option?”

“If I knew of better ones, I would have done it.” Petra ran a hand through the dark tide of Dorothea’s hair. “Tell me you are understanding, Mo Grá. I can not bear to have you upset or worse, fear me.”

 _Must death be the only path to peace,_ she wanted to ask. _Must a ruler decide between an honorable death or_ _shadowed_ _cruelty?_ She thought of Edelgard and what she would say. She thought of the Professor and her measured ways, considering how the woman might act. Neither of them would feel the same terror, Dorothea decided. They would support Petra in this, unflinching in their pragmatism. That was how the war had been won, and that was how the Empire and its territories would be kept. She was alone in her naivete – silly, pathetic girl that she still was.

“I could never fear you,” the actress finally whispered. And it was true. Dorothea loved her too much; so deep and vast it rivaled the ocean depths. It was unbreakable, the sheer strength of the love and trust she felt. Yet it was also a cumbersome thing poisoned by this terrible knowledge. A Duke died so a Queen could continue to rule. A man died so _she_ could remain happy.

Dorothea buried her face into Petra’s neck, desperate to find an anchor. Yet her mingled feelings of guilt and horror never lessened. And beneath it all, a black mass of disgust sat. Not for Petra. Never for her. It was only for herself because she knew that no matter how much she loathed the prospect, Dorothea would not change a thing.

Next Act - Squall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So... Happy Thanksgiving? Sorry for the angst on such a pleasant occasion my fellow Americans, but the muse decided it must be so (shrug) I hope you enjoyed this regardless! I considered making a happier story but after thinking on it I realized I wanted to return to the actions Petra had done during TWtD. Imo, CF route is the only sensible choice for Petra to make if she has the best interests of her country at heart. And I view Petra as very dedicated to both Brigid and her family. This story will partly explore that but I also wanted to delve into how Dorothea might respond to the realities of the war. I deliberately kept her oblivious to the more underhanded activities Edie did in TWtD and I began to wonder what might happen should everything come to light. 
> 
> As always, any interpretations and characterization is subject to my personal taste and may not necessarily be true to canon. If you're curious about how I envision the archipelago in full, you can find both a map of Brigid and the Macneary coat of arms on my kofi (links in my bio and twitter) This fic will be short-ish, about as long as TToC, and what I work on as December progresses. I appreciate any thoughts/opinions and embrace constructive criticism. Thank you for reading, and I wish you a very happy Turkey Day!! - AdraCat


	2. Act 2 - Squall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inner turmoil of a woman as she is, and who she feels she must become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much love and thanks to my beta, johnxfire~

_Dorothea was never one for partings. Any ending spoke of a faint melancholy she couldn’t abide. Yet this one – while bitter – was still welcome in its own way. Edie was a vision of white and red, garbed smartly as ever in her travel wear. Dorothea didn’t know why she kept the pretense of secrecy. That crown of silver hair was far too distinct. Yet Dorothea was not apt to spoil her friend’s games. She embraced her warmly, bemused as ever at the difference in height. Perhaps her disguise was ingenious after all. Very few would suspect the infamous Emperor to be so slight in stature._

_“May the sea part in your wake,” Dorothea spoke the line carefully. It was a common phrase here in Brigid; a blessing and entreaty to the deity they worshiped. Edie raised a pale brow._

_“A form of farewell? Or a wish for good luck?”_

_“A bit of both,” Dorothea admitted. “But I have a feeling you won’t need the latter. Somehow, luck seems to find you in the most peculiar of ways. I’m almost jealous.”_

_“I wouldn’t say that. The whims of fate have left me with as many banes as boons.” The Emperor looked to the side. “However, I see your point. I have been rather fortunate of late.”_

_Dorothea followed her line of sight and stilled upon the form of Byleth. The former professor was speaking softly with Petra, gesturing idly to the sea. Dorothea smiled as her friend’s meaning dawned._

_“I see a little stroll on the beach did you wonders. Has the good General finally fallen in line, Your Majesty?”_

_“Byleth was hardly being rebellious.” Despite her stoic words, a comely flush painted Edie’s cheeks. “I won’t hand out specifics, but I will say that we have come to a mutual understanding.”_

_“An understanding made underneath beams of moonlight with waves lapping at your heels… Have I set the scene appropriately? Feel free to correct me on the details.”_

_“So you can continue that horrendous opera you keep threatening me with? I think not.” The Emperor cleared her throat imperiously. Nonetheless, a small smile creased her lips. “It was a wonderful night I shall never forget. Let’s leave it at that.”_

_“Spoilsport. But I suppose there’s merit to leaving a bit of mystery.” Dorothea withdrew, locking her arms behind herself. “You do know that someone is in the midst of writing your memoirs as we speak. It would be wise to have a trusted source to clarify things first.”_

_“Someone like yourself?” Edie asked wryly._

_“Well it wouldn’t be a terrible idea, but I think I fit better in an advisory role.” Dorothea placed a hand to her cheek, humming thoughtfully. “The title would need to be something eye-catching; the dialogue witty and heartfelt. The songs full of love. After all, the Emperor and her prospective consort deserve the best.”_

_Suddenly, the younger woman’s face fell. Her mouth pursed into a thin line._

_“I appreciate the thought. However, you might be assuming too much.”_

_“How so?”_

_Lavender eyes drifted over the water. The Emperor’s expression was abnormally still._

_“We have never spoken of marriage. From what we have discussed, I’m uncertain it would be something Byleth desires at all.”_

_“Oh, Edie... Surely you’re not still having doubts? She loves you deeply.”_

_“You misunderstand,” Edelgard interrupted. Her tone was sharp but not unkind. “I do not question her love at all. Yet love isn’t what we’re discussing. Tell me, Dorothea. In your eyes, what exactly does a marriage mean to you?”_

_“I…” Dorothea hesitated. The answer was something that should have been easy to give. Before Petra, she had made peace with the pragmatic reality of marriage. It would have been a transaction in a way. The promise of security in exchange for her womb. Yet with Petra, it would mean the culmination of their love. Would it not be the same for Edie? But the Emperor’s stony expression gave her pause. After a long silence, the other woman bobbed her head._

_“I thought as much. Things have changed for you which is only natural. I’m glad for you, truly.” She looked once more at Byleth. “If she were to marry me there would be expectations. I have made it clear that my line will not propagate and succession with be at my behest. Still, for the duration of my rule, she would be required to act as Empress. It is a role that I don’t envision her accepting.”_

_“Whyever not? Nothing would need to change.”_

_“I wish that was the truth. The simple fact is if we were to marry it would elevate her into a position of power. I have no doubts she would wear it with grace, but Byleth is resistant to anything that might divide the country further. She also does not wish to abandon her post as my general.”_

_“I don’t understand.” Dorothea fiddled with the folds of her dress. “How could your marriage divide the Empire?”_

_“If we marry, she would be seen as my regent. I don’t think I need to illustrate how that might leave me exposed.” Edie rubbed her brow. She appeared suddenly weary. “There are many who would leap at the chance to do away with me so a more pliable ruler could take my place. Currently, they stay their hands for fear of the chaos my death would create.”_

_“I would rather not contemplate such an awful possibility.” Dorothea winced. The Emperor’s answering smile was tight; humorless._

_“Neither would Byleth. Of course, even if they were to succeed in their plans she would not be half as compliant as they assume. But that wouldn’t stop them from trying. So we’ve come to a regrettable impasse. She will not marry me for fear of my death and I cannot ask her to take the burden of my nation.”_

_“Burden…” Dorothea found herself watching her own love. Petra was chuckling at something Byleth had said, the warmth in her expression apparent. Dorothea’s heart ached at the radiance of her smile. “I never thought someone might make a weapon of a joyful occasion.”_

_“Humans are ever-resourceful and opportunistic creatures. I can’t begrudge them for this when I have done worse. For a greater cause arguably, but I digress.” Edelgard sighed before folding her arms. “In the end, what is one person’s happiness worth compared to the security of the nation?”_

_“Are these concerns merely your own or are these Hubert’s words I’m hearing?” Dorothea swallowed, forcing her heart to calm. “There must be a way to have both. From what I know of the Professor she would gladly share this burden with you.”_

_“I’m aware of this. Should I ask, I have no doubt she would marry me the instant we land in Enbarr. Despite her fears. Despite the forces working against us.” Something sad surfaced beneath her friend’s eyes. “But then I must ask myself whether I would be willing to place my country’s future within her hands. Much as I love her, it’s not a notion that sits well with me should the worst come to pass.”_

_“You don’t trust her to rule fairly?”_

_“I do, but that wouldn’t be the issue. Byleth is a wonderful soldier; brilliant, skilled, ever loyal. However, a perfect soldier does not make for a competent ruler. For all her talents, she is also trusting to a fault. She takes things at face value – a quality I find endearing – but it would not serve her upon the throne. She knows very little about Fόdlan as a whole. Such ignorance would be exploited quite easily.”_

_Edie lashed her tongue along her bottom lip. It was an uncommonly nervous gesture for the Emperor._

_“Her potential rule would be flawed and open to criticism. Yet it would be her compassion that cripples her. A ruler must know when to use a soft touch, but also when to clamp their jaws. I do not see Byleth straddling that divide with ease.”_

_“You don’t fear your death the most.” It struck Dorothea suddenly, the truth behind the Emperor’s words. She stared at the resolute set of Edelgard’s brow. “You fear the collapse of everything you’ve achieved. Edie…”_

_“It’s a terrible and ungracious way to think, isn’t it? I do wonder what Byleth sees in me.” Edelgard’s smile was edged with rare derision. Self-directed, but just as cutting. “I’m no stranger to hard truths. I will not allow any marriage of mine to ruin the course of history. I have worked too hard for everything we’ve done to unravel.”_

_“You’ve given great thought to this,” Dorothea uttered softly. “I just assumed it was the same insecurities you had before. I never gave any mind to politics.”_

_“I don’t fault you for that. Most people can’t understand the strain of a crown and all its trappings.”_

_**But I must, shouldn’t I? Will I not be in a similar position when Petra takes me as her wife?** Dorothea left her questions unspoken. She curled her hands behind her, affecting a pleasant laugh._

_“I suppose you’re right. I must say I’m disappointed I won’t be attending your wedding. You would have made a lovely bride, Edie.”_

_“I look awful in white; positively ghostly. So it’s just as well.” The Emperor waved her hand faintly. Her expression smoothed. “Some people are just not suited for certain roles. I’ve made my peace with this. I am looking forward to your coming nuptials, however. I have no doubt you’ll be the most radiant bride in all of Brigid.”_

_“You flatter me…” Dorothea’s teeth clicked as her jaw tightened. The Emperor’s phrasing was not lost upon her. A lovely bride, but does that make for a worthy consort? **Do I – in all my flaws and pitiable inadequacies – grasp what I must become for my love?** There was a bleak truth beneath the surface of their union, one Dorothea could not say she was fully prepared to embrace. But she knew it would not serve her to ruin the day with her brooding. So Dorothea did what she was best at and smiled._

_“I think it will be my greatest role yet.”_

* * *

  
  


“You seem distant today.”

“Dorothea blinked, torn from her reverie. She craned her head to look at Hagan. The man was staring at her intently, brow stooped with thought. Immediately, Dorothea affected a grin.

“Oh, it’s nothing important. You know me, just thinking too hard about inconsequential things.” She cleared her throat before flipping through the script in her hands. “Where were we… The second to last line, right? The Duchess’ lament?”

Her friend cocked his head. The speculative gleam in his eyes never lessened.

“Let’s break for now. The wind is howling something fierce today. I think rain is coming.” Hagan gestured toward the clouds. Dorothea blinked before following his line of sight. He was right. The sky was abnormally grey today. “Come. Let’s talk for a bit as we wait to see what the Mother has in store.”

“There really isn’t anything to discuss,” Dorothea insisted. Nevertheless, she followed her friend as he ducked beneath the nearby awning. He sat amid the shaded sand, brows arched.

“Humor an old man, won’t you? Rudd and I are much too settled to find ourselves in conflict. Hearing about the turbulence of youth keeps the grey from my chin.”

“I highly doubt that.” Her smile faded the longer he stared at her. Finally conceding, Dorothea joined him on the sand. “...Am I truly so transparent? Perhaps I’m losing my touch.”

“You are incomparable in your act. Only a practiced eye could tell the difference.” Hagan placed a large hand on his chest. “Sadly for you, I am salted by time and experience. So bare your troubles to me, lest my mind wanders with dark speculation.”

“It’s not a matter I can air casually.” Dorothea fixed her eyes on the rolling waves. “Besides, if you knew my thoughts, I’m sure you would think me petty. I don’t want you to think less of me.”

“Impossible.” She heard Hagan scoff. “Do you figure me for a fickle man? My regard will not be wounded so easily. You are a dear friend and our Queen’s greatest treasure. I know of no one more deserving of this honor than you.”

“Your thoughts may change once you hear the content of mine,” Dorothea replied. She twisted her hands in her lap, uncertain where to begin. “...Before I came here, I don’t think I fully grasped what Petra’s station would entail. When I thought of her being a princess and future Queen, it was always in the abstract. It was an indistinct notion to me; never quite fully formed.”

“That is understandable.” Hagan bobbed his head. “My husband was much the same. It is always an adjustment when you first arrive in a foreign land. I imagine it must be more difficult considering her title. Had you acclimated without struggle, I would have been most perplexed.”

“It is not the title itself I balk at. Rather, the harsh realities of what it truly means to be a Queen. In Fόdlan… she was in much the same position as I. We were both outsiders in a world we didn’t fully understand. Her, for her nationality, and me, for my common blood.” Dorothea paused as she mused over those years they spent together – friends and comrades both. Equal in all the most important ways. “However, now I see the divide between us and it scares me. More than I ever thought possible.”

“Fear of her?”

“Never,” she asserted, an echo of the night previous. Dorothea gripped her dress, avoiding her friend’s stare. _I fear my own shortcomings_ , she wanted to say. _The vast separation between who she deserves and who I am. I fear a future where I cannot harden my weak heart, and it leads to her fall._ Instead, she breathed deeply and said, “I fear not being enough. Terribly silly of me, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. The pressure of a marriage and a crown is no easy thing to bear.” Hagan’s expression softened. “I cannot speak for our Queen, but I know she loves you. Isn’t that the most important part?”

 _Not always._ Dorothea blinked, suddenly reminded of that final conversation with Edie. Love would not solve every problem. Not for the Emperor and not for her. Edelgard had been right, but that was no surprise. She always seemed to know what others did not. Dorothea wished she could say the same.

“Love is the least of my concerns,” she said at last. “If nothing else, I am certain in her affections.”

“Then try not to worry about the rest of it. Take each day as it comes. It’s the only way to live, in my humble opinion.” Her friend shrugged mightily. “From what I’ve seen of you, I have no doubt you’ll be an excellent consort. Heed my words, you’ll be the jewel of the Isles.”

Dorothea pursed his lips, slightly disgruntled by his cavalier attitude. She knew he meant well, but Hagan’s perspective was often colored by too much optimism. What she needed now wasn’t baseless platitudes. Only tackling the root of her worry would settle her disquiet. But that involved broaching Petra directly. Dorothea wasn’t sure she could bear placing more stress upon her lover. The woman already had enough problems without sorting through hers. Dorothea stirred from her thoughts as Hagan stretched his arms above his head. His shoulder popped and he groaned at the noise.

“Ah… I’m getting old. I can’t prance across the stage as I did in my youth. Shall we call it for today?”

“That might be for the best.” Dorothea stilled as something occurred to her. “Hagan, is there a traditional meaning to the gift of a dagger?”

“That’s an odd question to ask so suddenly.” The man chuckled, but there was a cagey look to his eyes she did not miss. He wet his lips, appearing to search for the right words to say. “There are a few occasions that require such a gift. Upon a warrior’s entrance into adulthood, for example. It’s meant to symbolize our commitment to protecting our home.”

“What if it’s from one ruler to another?”

“Well…” Hagan looked away, mouth pursing. “It depends on the context. But the most traditional meaning would be the fulfillment of a blood debt. When the isles were young, the Dukes warred with each other frequently. At times, they might enter into alliances of convenience or become beholden to one another. Bequeathing a dagger would mean the end of that oath. A symbolic severance for services rendered.”

“And how might that come about?” Dorothea watched as he squirmed, abruptly looking uncomfortable.

“A variety of ways; many of which you would not like to hear. I won’t lie to you, Dorothea. Our past is not the most glorious, nor is it without bloodshed.” Hagan ran a thoughtful palm across the stubble of his scalp. “From birth, we are expected to take up arms in the name of our homeland. We are warriors foremost. Everything else comes second.”

“War is in your blood,” she commented. It was not an unkind observation, merely a statement of fact. The man looked at her apologetically.

“Death is the oldest teacher. We cut our teeth on its blade and are rewarded for our duty in the Mother’s warm embrace. To die – to kill – in the name of our home is the highest honor.”

“I assume silencing any threats would be among that duty.” Dorothea cut her eyes to the waves once more. “Questions of morality or mercy would only distract from the point. To rule is to decide what is righteous and good. Isn’t that right?”

“I’m not sure I would say that in so many words,” Hagan hedged. Dorothea saw through it, hearing the hesitance in his voice. She was right in her measure. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“I don’t judge your people for this. Fόdlan is hardly a bastion for the morally upright.” Dorothea sighed heavily, shoulders collapsing with the weight of it. “Even so… I falter to make peace with a reality where one must rule at the end of a sword. I do not know if I can wield that power without flinching. Yet I must to remain by her side. That’s what it means to be the wife of a Queen.”

Hagan didn’t respond then. However, she didn’t need him to. She was firm in her certainty, painful though it was. Dorothea continued to watch the rolling pulse of the ocean. The knot in her stomach lurched with it, echoing its beat.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dorothea did not immediately return to the castle. Instead, she wandered the shores of Sionnach in aimless contemplation. The water crested her ankles in a kiss as she tread the sand. Her eyes were focused ahead of her, barely aware of any curious passersby. Dorothea did not have it in her to wonder what they might be thinking. Her eyes caught on the bobbing ships making their way to port. Their sails billowed in the wind; a parade of color on a canvas of blue.

She spared a moment to think on which port they hailed from. Could they be from the northernmost isles – dignitaries smoothing over the aftermath of their Duke’s burgeoning coup? Or were they from the southern island of Turtar, come to trade and nothing else? It struck Dorothea suddenly that she had little knowledge to judge either. Both Petra and Hagan could discern a ship’s intent and origin at a glance. Yet all she could glean was the color and size. Dorothea paused along the beach, bothered by this revelation.

And as she stood there – eyes searching the distant points of foreign landmasses and vessels – she realized how little she knew. Not just of Brigid, but of everything else that made the nation what it was. Their warrior culture. Their love and reliance on the sea. The vast and complex relationships each island held between themselves. Could Dorothea say she understood it in a practical sense? She had been studying the archipelago’s history for some time now. But all of that was trapped in the pages of worn tomes and second-hand oratory.

Such accounts did not leave room for Dorothea to experience the islands for herself. And, she knew, reading about something did not make for true comprehension. She had stayed here on Sionnach, believing she could simply while her days away with love and songs. She had nursed her ignorance out of trepidation for the unknown and allowed herself to fall prey to girlish whims. How silly she must seem to these people who lived and breathed this land from the start. How soft and vapid.

Was that what Petra thought of her in truth? She reviled the possibility. Dorothea blinked, uncertain whether the sting in her eyes came from sorrow or the sea. She straightened. Perhaps she had failed in her duties as Petra’s intended. Perhaps the isles viewed her as an amusement and nothing more. That did not mean it had to remain that way. She could still prove herself worthy. This coming performance would be her last and then… Then she would focus on being the wife Petra needed.

Dorothea returned to the castle with those thoughts twisting inside her head. She headed up the second level, her steps echoing against the stones. As she passed the study, Dorothea heard the sound of conversation from within. They were speaking entirely in Braeilg, the cadence oddly sharp for casual chatter. Dorothea paused as she heard Petra’s distinctive lilt. Her lover sounded faintly irritated; an uncommon occurrence for someone so patient. It was possible the Queen was speaking to the visiting Dukes judging from the masculine voices heard alongside her.

Dorothea nearly left but stopped herself. She hesitated by the door. Normally, she was content to leave the politics to Petra. After all, her knowledge was minimal. Dorothea often felt like she would just distract her lover from her duties. Yet in light of recent events, she could not bring herself to flee. Governance and diplomacy were important aspects of ruling. Should she not take the chance to prove herself capable? The Dukes might not take her presence seriously, but this was for Petra’s sake. Dorothea could not afford to balk now. She took a steadying breath before opening the door.

Dorothea spotted her love in an instant. Petra was standing over her desk, posture rigid and palms splayed over the wood. The Dukes were facing her as expected. Both men appeared to be in the midst of an argument, words spewing too fast for Dorothea to process them. Then, Petra seemed to notice her. The Queen’s eyes widened before she raised a hand in response. Her guests quieted, turning to look at the door in confusion.

“Dorothea,” Petra breathed out. She sounded somewhat winded, but not displeased. Her features relaxed slightly. “Is there something you need, Mo Grá?”

“I just thought I’d check on you,” Dorothea replied. She walked closer, stopping beside her lover’s elbow. Petra looked at her curiously, but Dorothea only offered a quick smile. She ignored the cursory glances traded between the Dukes. “I take it you’re still occupied with the situation in Na Siúracha?”

“We are having talks on that.” Petra eyed her levelly for a time. her dark gaze was considering and more than a bit hesitant. “Much is needing to be done. Dubheasa is gone, but he had great support for his claims. They cannot remain.”

“We were discussing how they should be dealt with,” Duke Tadhg commented. His tone was neutral as he addressed Dorothea, words heavily accented. She was surprised he made the effort to talk in her tongue. “I suggested we invite the known conspirators to Sionnach. If they can explain their actions and submit to Queen Petra then they will be granted leniency.”

“ _ **And I said that was foolish.**_ ” Duke Neachtan scoffed. His lips were twisted with faint petulance as he continued to speak in Braeilge. “ _ **We cannot give them time to regroup. Only lies will spew from their mouths, my Queen.**_ _Beidh siad i bhfolach faoin ngaineamh go dtí go mbeidh tú leochaileach_.”

Dorothea blinked, becoming lost amid the sudden burst of language. She struggled to adjust and saw Petra frown at her in concern.

“ _ **Let us speak slowly for now. It will give us all a chance to sort our thoughts.**_ ” The Queen sighed, passing a hand over her brow. “ _ **I know your worries. I share them. But I do not want the waters to run red with more Brigid blood.**_ ”

“ _ **It is too late for that. Dubheasa and his brood are proof of this.**_ ”

“ _ **They supported his family, not him alone.**_ ” Tadhg frowned deeply. “ _ **They assumed his father was in agreement. It was in his name they did this, not because of one boy’s arrogance. It is loyalty to their former Duke that led–**_ ”

“ _ **They chose loyalty to a lesser family over the Crown. A great crime in of itself.**_ ” Neachtan visibly rankled. “ _ **The moment their treason was birthed, death awaited them. Cull them where they lie.**_ ”

“ _ **A man’s reasons are everything, Neachtan. You cannot neatly divide them from his actions.**_ ” Tadhg looked to Petra. “ _ **I believe they should be given the chance to speak. They may not have understood the gravity of their choice. Na Siúracha is ruled by many families with many young heads. To kill them outright would be seen as an act of tyranny, my Queen.**_ ”

“ _ **I’m aware. But I also know that they cannot remain as they are.**_ ” Petra drew herself up, posture stiff and regal. In that moment, she was every inch the Queen of Brigid. Dorothea marveled at the difference a change in stance could make. “ _ **I will think on what you’ve told me. Both of you. Until I come to a solution for Na Siúracha, we should focus on what to do with Tiernan.**_ ”

“ _ **Him?**_ ” Neachtan scrunched his nose. “ _ **I don’t see why he shouldn’t suffer the same fate as Dubheasa.**_ ”

“Is that the other Duke?” Dorothea asked suddenly. The two men paused as they seemed to notice her presence once more. It did not escape her that Neachtan seemed to be biting back a scowl, but she ignored him pointedly. As for Petra, the woman favored her with a nod.

“He governs Béir, the island closest to Fόdlan. His land is home to great wealth – minerals and precious gems,” Petra explained. “His closeness to Fόdlan also means greater trade. But he hides behind this wealth. Of all the remaining Dukes, he is the most bothersome.”

“Do you think he was funding the coup? Buying off support?” Dorothea asked. Her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the information. She watched as Petra raised her shoulders in limp acceptance.

“It is… of possibility. But that is not an easy thing to admit.” Petra eyed the two men across from her shortly. She moved closer to Dorothea, placing an arm around her waist. “Loyalty is everything to Brigid. To us. Soiling this with gold? _Claidhreacht._ ”

“Do you think he’ll continue now that Dubheasa is dead?” Dorothea kept her voice steady. She did not falter on the man’s name even as her gut twisted. Petra stared at her in silence, conflict brewing within her expression. Eventually, she exhaled in a slow breath.

“I cannot say, Mo Grá. I am not knowing his motivations or why he supported Dubheasa.” The Queen smiled grimly. “I had thought him loyal to my family. This betrayal is unexpected and sudden.”

“ _ **Challenge him, my Queen,**_ ” Neachtan broke in suddenly. “ _ **Let him face the judgment of your blade. Should he refuse, his guilt is proven there. Just like Dubheasa.**_ ”

“ _ **Solving everything with bloodshed is not our way. Not anymore.**_ ” Tadhg paused, his gaze darting to Dorothea before settling on his Queen. “ _ **There was a rumor some time ago that Dubheasa meant to court you. He was… not pleased to hear of your lady. Shortly afterward, he was betrothed to Tiernan’s granddaughter. It is possible Tiernan did not intend to back a coup and only provided his coin as a dowry.**_ ”

“ _ **Ridiculous!**_ ” His shorter companion sputtered mightily. Petra did not appear to share the opinion. Her expression was markedly pensive.

“ _ **Then why would he not say this?**_ ” she asked at length. “ _ **And why would he deny my summons? I don’t understand.**_ ”

“ _ **Rumors abound that an old wound has left him lame. Many say he cannot walk without aid.**_ ” Tadhg gestured towards Petra’s muscular frame. “ _ **He would know better to answer a challenge in his frail state. You would kill him, my Queen, without a struggle. It is also possible he fears your reaction considering his ties to Dubheasa.**_ ”

“ _ **All I hear is unfounded speculation. We cannot leave this up to chance. Let Tiernan rot and cut his throat as he sleeps.**_ ” Neachtan bared his teeth in a snarl. The gesture was oddly disquieting considering his short stature and fine dress. Briefly, Dorothea wondered at his rabid insistence. Was this truly a display of loyalty? Or was the man eager to be rid of a political rival? Perhaps it was a mix of both.

“ _ **I do not want to kill an innocent man. But I cannot let a threat persist without answering it,**_ ” Petra replied curtly. Dorothea blinked as the Queen looked at her. “Are you… having thoughts on this? I am not wanting to make a decision without you. Not again.”

“I…” Dorothea hesitated. She met Petra’s gaze with her own and noted the gentle plea that lay within. At the core of her, Dorothea wanted to say that slaying this man was unthinkable. If even a portion of what Duke Tadhg assumed was proven correct, then it would be unjust to issue a challenge. He would have no means of defending himself nor the ability to refute these accusations without forfeiting his life.

But what if Tadhg was mistaken? Surely, it was more prudent to quash a threat in its infancy. If Tiernan continued to prove treacherous, it would be Petra’s life that was forfeit. Dorothea did not wish to take that chance. Yet how could she say for certain this man deserved a dishonorable death? If she was wrong, a man and his family would suffer for nothing. She couldn’t make a decision, and the weight of that simple fact sat heavy within her chest. Dorothea glanced helplessly from Petra to the Dukes. Both men stared at her expectantly, waiting for her input.

The taller man’s expression was inscrutable but the same could not be said for his counterpart. Neachtan glowered, his contempt plain. He did not bother to veil his skepticism of her, and normally Dorothea would seek to prove him wrong. However, she found herself faltering. The Duke had every right to doubt her. After all, who was she to advise their Queen on the archipelago’s affairs? Neachtan looked at her and saw a common girl drowning in waters she could never understand. And she was also well aware he was not alone in this. King Eagan had thought the same. Perhaps even her closest friends did as well.

Dorothea pushed away the self-inflicted hurt that notion caused. She swallowed her emotions down until they were nothing more than a bitter ball in her gut. A practiced smile appeared on her face.

“I’m sure whatever you choose will be for the best,” she told Petra at last. “I think I’ll retire for today. Excuse me.”

Her lover’s face pulled with worry, but Dorothea ignored it. She strode toward the door with her head high, steps quick and even. But the heat of Petra’s stare could still be felt, as could the satisfied words of Duke Neachtan.

“ _ **It is as I said, my Queen. Leave Brigid affairs to Brigid blood.**_ ”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The tale of the Duchess Éala was a subject of great debate. According to Hagan, the historical accuracy was often questioned as no record of such a person appeared to exist. Yet her story had been carried on for countless generations. To that end, it must have been somewhat mired in truth. When Dorothea read the script for herself, she could see why it was so fiercely beloved.

The story began with the wife of a Duke. She was a plain woman with plain concerns and was not formally educated by any means. Éala hailed from a family of shipwrights but was never taught the craft. Her constitution tended towards sickly and she could never take the field in honor of her home. Similarly, the man she married was both a drunkard and a philanderer. He was never meant to succeed his father, but once his brothers perished at sea he was left as the sole heir. Until one day, the newly minted Duke took a spill over his ship and crashed his head against the bluffs. He did not die from the injury but was left mentally incompetent to rule.

And this was just in the first act. The rest of the story was a tale of adaptation and struggle. The harrowing adjustment of a woman who should have never been thrust into leadership. The unraveling of who Éala had been in favor of who she must become. The destruction of her pitiful self and the cold mask of the Duchess. Dorothea had thought the idea rather peculiar at first. Why must this woman make such a compromise? But she could see it now in a way she never did before. Éala might not have loved her husband as Dorothea loved Petra. Yet the woman had loved her nation. Her home. And she would make any sacrifice to keep it safe.

There was a kinship there Dorothea couldn’t deny. However, as she practiced the final song alone, she couldn’t quite find the passion required of her. The song was meant to encapsulate Éala’s transformation from a pitiable girl to a formidable duchess. It was her final lament for that chapter in her life. Dorothea had been eager to belt it on the stage. But not now. Her words rang distressingly flat to the ear. Frustrated, she sat along the garden fountain. She dipped her hand in the water moodily, watching as a stream poured from a stone merlion. The creature’s inanimate stare felt strangely accusing.

“I’m surprised you’re practicing alone.”

Dorothea jerked, taken aback by the sudden voice. Her eyes flit to the garden path and stilled upon Petra’s grandfather. Eagan’s expression was bland as he hobbled near. The sound of his cane was crisp against the stones. Dorothea stood to greet him, only for Eagan to hold up his hand.

“No need to stand on ceremony. I only meant to wish you luck in the coming show,” the man said. “All of Sionnach is looking forward to it.”

“That’s… lovely to hear.” Dorothea winced at her own lax enthusiasm. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Truly, I’m humbled to have so much support here in Sionnach. Even in Adrestia, I wasn’t quite so applauded.”

“It’s well deserved,” Eagan offered graciously. “Perhaps our stage is less grand, but we adore those who venture to take it. Such art takes a great amount of courage.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Only kind enough, I think.” Eagan craned his head as he stared at her. There was a speculative gleam to stare that brought the Professor to mind. “Still, I find it peculiar you’re practicing in solitude. I know Petra is fond of watching you act.”

“She is, yes...” Dorothea’s smile faded. She sat beside the fountain once more, eyes flitting to the water. “However, I know she’s tending to more important matters. It would be selfish of me to pull her away from that. Besides, I would hate for her to see me like this. It’s far from my best performance.”

“You seem very certain of this.” The former king sat beside her, cane resting between his legs. “It has been years since I allowed myself the pleasure of a show. Yet even a masterful ear could hardly find fault with your voice.”

“Forgive me for the cheek, Eagan, but I know that’s not true.” Dorothea exhaled in dejection. She plucked at a stray thread of her dress idly. “Were my mentor to see me now, she’d have some choice words for me, I’m sure. All of it would be richly deserved.”

“You are quite harsh on yourself. Perhaps unfairly so,” Eagan observed. Dorothea shrugged, both unable and unwilling to argue.

“Where I’m from, that’s needed if you want to rise to distinction. Tear yourself down enough times and you become accustomed to it. Then, when others do the same the sting is lessened.” She splayed her fingers over her lap, noting the irregular edge of a nail. It had chipped at some point. The imperfection, though slight, caused her throat to tighten. “Perfection is a terrible pursuit. But I can’t stop myself from reaching for it. I have only myself to blame when I fall short.”

“I don’t agree. Yet I think I understand.” Eagan’s dark eyes peered at her, solemn and keen. “Do you question your ability?”

“I question my worthiness,” Dorothea revealed. She blinked rapidly, refusing to meet the man’s gaze. They were talking about more than the play now. Of that, she was certain. “What if this role is not meant for me? What if I cannot do what is needed and the story ends in ruin? I fear all of this and more.”

“And have you spoken these fears to anyone else?” Eagan asked. His tone was even, betraying nothing. “What of Petra?”

“I don’t dare.” Dorothea tensed, unable to stomach the notion. “If she knew the content of my thoughts, I’m sure she would feel responsible. Further still, it would hurt her deeply to hear this.”

“That’s an interesting assumption.”

“Are you saying she wouldn’t be wounded?” She cut her eyes to the man, voice sharpening. Despite his relation to Petra, she found her patience thoroughly tested. “To hear me profess concern over our union? To be second-guessing my place in her life?”

“Perhaps it might. But life is full of pain. As warriors, we know this well.” Eagan shook his head. His attention left her to focus somewhere in the distance. “Dorothea, how do you feel about the sea?”

“Pardon?” Dorothea blinked at the abrupt non-sequitur. “I… I suppose I enjoy it. Not as much as most of your people do, but I’ve come to appreciate it a great deal.”

“As you should.” The elderly man nodded genially. “It is an easy thing to love, but it can also be exceptionally difficult. The same can be said for The Mother and Her servants. They bring many storms to our shore – great strife and terrible loss both.”

Eagan halted for a moment. His eyes clouded with what she assumed was memory.

“Yet for all that difficulty, our love never wanes. It is constant and firm. Had it crumbled beneath the first few gusts of wind, could we say it was ever true?”

Dorothea stayed silent, and Eagan seemed to take this as agreement. The former king gestured to the endless stretch of water before them.

“Tell me, Dorothea. Do you think yourself greater than the sea?”

“...No,” she whispered softly. “I do not.”

“Then all will be as it should be. The Mother bids it so.” Eagan stood. His lips creased into a smile. “She brought you to Petra. And Petra brought you here. This is not happenstance. I believed that the moment you saved my granddaughter that day. Do you recall?”

“Of course. I could never forget.” Dorothea shivered in remembrance. It took her weeks before she allowed Petra to swim anywhere near Oileán Bier. Her lover had thankfully humored her without a fuss.

“You were strong for her then. I have no doubt you will show that same strength when you are wed.” Eagan tapped the side of Dorothea’s foot with his cane. “Tell her what you told me. Consider it an order from a tired, old king.”

“I will try,” she conceded. Her reluctance was evident, but Eagan appeared pacified nonetheless.

“Very well. I will hold you to this.” He searched her face for a moment. “Tomorrow, when you are on stage, do not think of what the crowd will expect. Perform as you wish. The role is yours, after all.”

Dorothea blinked, surprised by the assertion. Yet she couldn’t quite refute it. As Eagan retreated whence he came, she found herself pondering deeper. Perhaps the role of Éala did not suit her perfectly. Not as it currently was. But she did not need it to. When the curtain rose, Dorothea would do as Eagan advised and play the role as she desired. Then, she would face Petra and speak the truth of her feelings. Her love deserved honesty, Dorothea decided. Now was the time for courage, not uncertainty. For all her failings, no one had ever accused her of being a coward.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The night of the performance was balmy. The heat of the Brigid sun had soaked through to evening, leaving a weighted humidity to the air. As the people of Sionnach gathered around the stage, the warmth lingered in their bones. There was certain drowsiness to their movements, loose and free just as their conversations. Dorothea observed them from behind the curtain folds. Most of them were familiar faces; regulars who she had seen every night since her first Brigid debut.

Dorothea spotted the crowned head of Petra upon the elevated seating. The other woman was chatting quietly with the two Dukes, but her attention never quite settled fully with them. Her eyes strayed frequently to the stage, posture uncommonly alert. Dorothea could read the excitement that thrummed through every inch of her. It soothed the actress to witness her lover’s unabashed joy. She didn’t think it would be narcissistic to say Petra was her greatest fan. The Queen had always been wonderfully blatant in her appreciation. Dorothea only hoped she would find this _unconventional_ performance to her liking as well.

The men beside the Queen were less keen. Tadhg was straight-backed and calm. His gaze roved over the gathered mass with odd scrutiny. His companion was dour-faced as expected. Neachtan’s leg bounced in agitation as he scowled at the stage. Dorothea could guess the direction of this thoughts. It had been clear from the start that neither Duke were the sort to appreciate the arts, but they would humor their Queen’s whims. Dorothea felt a pang of guilt that she was distracting Petra from more important matters but quickly shoved it aside. The show would be starting soon.

Dorothea breathed in deeply. In that brief pause between heartbeats – lungs full and aching – she found her centre. She stood there for a good while, focused on the pounding cadence of her heart and not the clamoring chatter of distant voices. Then, Dorothea pulled her confidence around herself like armor, bearing a smile as her sword. As her fellow actors piled on stage and the curtain pulled away, she drew first blood with her voice. Eala’s opening monologue and the crowd’s introduction to the scene.

When she spoke, Dorothea focused only on the character she portrayed. She gave no thought for the crowd, ignored the numerous eyes dissecting her appearance, and paid no mind to the murmured whispers of criticism or praise. This moment was hers and hers alone. A bargaining with Dorothea the actress and Éala the Duchess. It was a line tread with care and she handled it as such. The opening act was simple enough to bear without difficulty.

Speaking in uninterrupted Braeilge was a trial, but less so since she already knew the script by heart. She was certain her pronunciation was faulty at times, but Dorothea was determined to pay it little mind. As she strode the stage, lights in her hair and the blaze of torches at her feet, Dorothea felt in her element. Her talents were in full view – the skills she had honed over years in unrestrained vibrancy. And she knew the audience could feel this too. Dorothea commanded their attention in a way she never had before; strove to do just this for the sake of something more than entertainment.

Her eyes fell to Petra often, and the awed look upon those dark features was everything. Her Queen was rapt, stare unwavering. The smile on her face was infectious and Dorothea had to curtail the instinctual desire to return it. As for the Dukes, they appeared simultaneously startled and impressed. Tadhg had leaned forward in his seat, full attention granted. Neachtan’s scowl had faded, replaced with a set jaw and pursed lips. A small victory, but one nonetheless. Dorothea bit back a smile as she turned to speak to the prostrate man playing her ‘husband’.

Soon – in a period of time that seemed to pass in a blink – the final scene arrived. In the script proper, this was meant to be the private bargaining between Éala of the past and present. Here, the woman would cast off the weak person she had been and solidify herself as the unfaltering Duchess of Brigid folklore. Unassailable in her commitment to her home. Immovable in her decisions and quick with her judgments. Truthfully, Dorothea had found the role appealing because it reminded her of many people she admired – Edelgard being one of them. Yet she wasn’t Edie. And she wasn’t Éala, either.

So it was with a pounding heart that Dorothea found Petra’s eyes and turned a lament into a declaration.

“ _ **I am called pitiful in my mercy. Cowardly in my compassion. Aspects of the self I have always been.**_ ” She straightened to her full height. These first lines held faithful to the original, but she deviated upon the last. Her voice rang clear. “ _ **And always will be.**_ ”

Dorothea paused and observed as the crowd began to glance at each other in confusion. Whispers ignited the longer she held her silence. Petra frowned, brow dipping. But Dorothea continued on.

“ _ **I will not cleave my heart to better fit the shoes of another. I will not cast aside my nature to appeal to propriety.**_ ” Dorothea looked away from her Queen and addressed the crowd directly. Their eyes stayed locked upon her frame; bright and numerous. “ _ **And I will not harden myself into steel to become a blade among many. Brigid is for warriors. But I have never been one of them. I will rule as I am and no other.**_ ”

She met Petra’s stare once more and watched as comprehension began to dawn. The Queen’s expression fell into something gentle and tinged with melancholy. Dorothea’s next words were softer but no less heartfelt.

 _ **“I will protect what I love in my own way. With everything that I am. Let it be enough, great Mother. Let it be enough.**_ ”

Suddenly, Dorothea spun on her heel and retreated behind the curtain. The sporadic whispers of the audience dogged her heels but she ignored them. Their reaction wasn’t what mattered. The other actors squinted at her with palpable incredulity, many asking why she decided to veer off script. Dorothea refused to answer. In the corner, Hagan watched her thoughtfully. Thankfully, he did not press her for answers. She was grateful for the small mercy, though she knew his mind must be spinning with questions. Later, when all was settled, Dorothea would reveal her reasoning to him. She knew the man would likely find it amusing. Or at the very least approve.

Much later, when the actors bowed and the baffled audience finally vacated, Dorothea retreated from the stage. She was not surprised to find Petra waiting for her by steps. The Queen stood patiently beneath the dusk-tipped sky, her gaze even. When Dorothea reached her at last, Petra held up her hand plaintively.

“Shall we walk the shore, Mo Grá?” she asked. Her voice revealed nothing of her emotions, but the melancholic slant of her mouth said plenty. Dorothea considered her for a time. With the veil of looming night painting her skin, her lover appeared as if she had stepped from a painting. The sunset drew out the deep hue of her hair and the shadows beneath her jaw. She was lovely and heartbreaking all at once. Dorothea nearly changed her mind, not wishing to say the dark musings of her heart. But she steeled herself with a breath and took Petra’s hand in her own.

“Yes. We shall.”

Next Act - After the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the long wait everyone! Holidays and life kicked me in the butt this winter. I also wasn't very happy with the original draft and decided to do a massive rewrite. This came out better than before, but I'm still not completely happy. I hope you enjoyed this nonetheless! We are now back on track and I can devote more time to writing in general. Speaking of, this chapter hit on a few things I've been meaning to tackle for TWtD. Namely marriage and how it might work in practical terms. Dorothea is a woman from common stock who was never trained nor prepared to govern anything. She's arguably the most 'normal' of the (remaining/not dead) cast which is really compelling in contrast to these hardened/pragmatic heirs and warriors. I wanted to explore how she might struggle with this and what conclusions she would come to if the worst should ever happen. I mean, it won't cuz I'm not that cruel, but hypotheticals are fun to delve into lol. 
> 
> I'm very curious about what you all make of this so if you have any thoughts I would love to hear them! The next update I have planned is for my cyberpunk 2077 fic but after that will be the last act for BtW. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a very excellent day <3 - AdraCat


	3. Act 3 - After the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here is the final installment! I hope you enjoy~  
> Much love to my beta, johnxfire <3

There was a certain sense of repetition as they tread the sands that evening; an echo of their first weeks in Brigid. Once, they shared their days with little care for what might come next. The future was a nebulous thing, toothless in every sense of the word. In the present, with Petra at her side and the purr of the ocean their only companion, Dorothea felt an immense sense of nostalgia. With the seasons so sedate and marginal, one could still mistake it for the ides of summer. It was strange to consider since the time in question was just a short while ago.

Yet perhaps this flight of fancy did not belong to her alone. She wasn’t oblivious to the wistful look Petra wore. Her love…. Her queen both of nation and heart. Very little had changed for her outwardly, but the same could not be said for her duties. Dorothea felt selfish for monopolizing her time like this. A princess might have had all the time in the world for frivolity, but a queen did not.

Nevertheless, Dorothea could not bring herself to complain. Petra’s hand fit too perfectly in her own. Her loping stride matched Dorothea’s ungainly steps – sure-footed among the sands in a way she could never emulate. Yet for all their differences, Dorothea’s heart said they fit together. So why could she not bring her head to believe the same? Her worries felt like a betrayal of their love. Perhaps that was why she was so timid to voice them. Their walk along the shore had been silent thus far, neither willing to break the peace. But it wouldn’t stay like that, Dorothea knew. Her lover had approached her for a reason. As if sensing her twisting thoughts, Petra offered a consoling smile.

“It’s only a little bit further. I am promising it’s worth the journey.”

“I’m certain it will be. Still, we’ve never been this far from port.” Dorothea looked around them, noting the rise of the hillside as maintained structures ceded ground to vacant sands. Her gaze roved across the steep rise of shale. Dorothea laughed, but the sound was strained even to her ear. “Quite the jaunt for an evening stroll. Should I be worried, darling?”

“No,” the other woman responded plainly. Petra stared ahead, never breaking stride. “I am not wishing for you to worry. You have been doing that too much. This will be a time for… relief? The word for ridding your fears.”

“Alleviating.” Dorothea’s eyes fell. She watched as her steps stirred the sand. “You understood, then. The message I was trying to send with Eala’s speech.”

“I did, yes. Your feelings were… bright. Powerful. I could no more ignore them than my own.” She felt Petra clutch her hand tighter. “You meant every word. I recognize this. Not as Éala, but for you. I heard the battle cry of your heart, and so I must answer.”

“I wouldn’t phrase it as such. I’m hardly declaring war on you, Petra.” Dorothea released a laugh, but it was breathy; faint. "It was more an outpouring of frustration. Not towards you, mind. Perhaps I’m just overthinking things… You know how I am.”

“I thought I did, but I am seeing now it is an imperfect knowledge. There are things you keep from me, Mo Grá.” Petra sighed. “As I did from you. Fear has made us strangers. I am desiring to correct this.”

Dorothea couldn’t refute the truth of that statement. They had both clung to their secrets with fervor. In fear, as Petra had asserted, but also because of consideration for each other. It was not a lack of trust that divided them; rather, the same love that kept their hands bound and hearts tethered. Petra had not wished to hurt her with the grim realities of Brigid. And Dorothea… her insecurities were a poison her lover shouldn’t need to bear. Yet silence had done nothing but wound them deeper than honesty ever could. She knew that now. They fell into a comfortable quiet as they strayed further along Sionnach’s flank. After a time, Petra finally gestured to a rocky alcove. Tucked away beneath the cliffs was a cavern entrance.

“There,” Petra said. “We can speak more inside.”

Dorothea only nodded, confused, yet ever trusting. However, she did wonder why their conversation needed to be there. They had never visited this section of Sionnach. It wasn’t as if this place was significant to them. Dorothea’s curiosity grew as Petra confidently jogged within and scanned the walls for something unknown. She smiled before shimmying an arm within a jagged crevice. To Dorothea’s surprise, Petra pulled an unlit torch from the gap.

“ _Fós anseo tar éis an ama seo ar fad…_ ” The Queen chuckled and pointed the torch’s cloth-wrapped end towards the taller woman. “Fire? The cave is dark and slick. The footing can be treacherous.”

“Not the most romantic thing you’ve ever told me,” Dorothea quipped. She lit the torch dutifully with a spark of flame. After months of dormancy, drawing upon the pool of magic felt strange. It took her a moment to recognize why. Before, it had just been another tool for war – healing or otherwise. It didn’t quite feel appropriate to use it for such ordinary tasks. She flexed her fingers, swallowing the unpleasant memories. When Dorothea looked up again, she caught her companion’s knowing stare. Thankfully, Petra allowed the moment to pass.

“We will not be straying far. The cavern stretches deep, but the part I am wishing to show you is a short distance.” Petra raised the torch overhead, beckoning her forward. “Keep close. There are many twists so it is not being wise to stray.”

“Trust me, that won’t be an issue. I’d sooner cling to your leathers than go lurking around.” Dorothea moved close once more and placed a hand on Petra's back. "Lead on, my dear.”

Just as her lover warned, the cave was vast as it was dark. It stretched further than Dorothea had imagined. The damp walls wound in complex roads that could one moment narrow and the next widen into jagged expanse. A cool breeze licked at their napes before skirting down to drag at their heels. It was preternaturally quiet, the only sound being the hungry burn of flame and their even breaths. Yet Dorothea held little fear. What horrors could a cave pose to someone who had seen the ugly face of war and heard the ghastly wail of a scaled beast?

Very little inspired such emotions within her anymore; the only mercy of that harrowing time. She laced her arm through Petra’s, observing as their shadows melded together. Her lover was confident, Dorothea observed, never pausing to check her feet or scan the nearby passages. Petra’s gait was sure, eyes focused ahead of them.

“You seem familiar with this cave,” Dorothea commented. “Have you been here recently, or…?”

“Not recently, no." Petra guided them around a narrow bend. She glanced briefly at Dorothea. "I stumbled here as a child. Accidental, but for a young girl bored with castle walls it was an exciting discovery. I came here often and grew familiar with these stone paths.”

“Little Petra’s hideaway, then? That’s adorable.” Dorothea smiled, trying to picture a young girl with big, brown eyes and a tangle of plum hair. “I imagine your family wasn’t very amused.”

“They wouldn’t have been. But I was not telling them,” Petra admitted. “My father was away at sea most days. My mother had already passed on, and grandfather was... himself. This place was mine. I was not wanting to share it with them.”

“Staking your claim young, I see.”

“It is the spirit of Brigid. We guard what we care for jealously.” Her features pulled with mirth, torchlight scattering across the planes of her face. Abruptly, Petra halted in place. “This was the place I was visiting the most. And there… Do you see?”

Dorothea set her eyes upon her lover’s arm, following where she gestured. They were currently enclosed within a circular recess. The stone sloped upward at a discreet angle before breaking away to reveal a shaft of light. The moon lit the wall below, highlighting the uneven surface. It occurred to Dorothea suddenly that she was not looking at a formation of nature, but rather a human-made scrawl. Lines and figures raced up the stone in sporadic patterns. She moved closer to touch the outline of what Dorothea assumed to be a ship.

“You made these,” she said, certain in her assessment. “Carved with... rocks?”

“And a dagger, after grandfather had one made for me.” Petra crossed her arms and stared at the wall. Her gaze was warm, yet strangely sad as well. “Once, I would be dreaming of what was beyond the sea. The countries I only knew from books and maps. The people who would be different from me, and the questions I might ask them… I had much wonder for what could be out there.”

“Your father or grandfather didn’t tell you? Never shared their travels?”

“They did, but that was not the same. I was wanting to see the world for myself.” Petra placed a hand against the wall. Her fingers splayed over the top of a rough-hewn crown. It took Dorothea a moment to recognize the shapes flanking it as wings. “I was young. I did not understand politics or war. Not yet. As I aged, I came here less and less. After father died, I visited only once – just before I left for Adrestia.”

“You were disillusioned,” Dorothea said quietly. Petra looked at her, brow dipping with thought.

“That is being a good description. The... _romance_ of traveling had vanished. And as my time in the Empire lengthened, my discomfort devoured any wonder I felt.” Petra’s hand lifted from the stone. “It is funny. The room they had given me was small and compact. At night, I could almost pretend I was being back here. The idea comforted me.”

“I recall you didn’t leave your quarters often when you first arrived at the academy. It was weeks before I saw you anywhere other than the dining hall.” Dorothea stood by her lover, touching the small of her back. She relaxed as Petra leaned into her hand. “Between you and Bern, I was deeply concerned. But I had no idea it was simply homesickness. I just thought you couldn’t stand us.”

“Do not be having worry. Everyone there was making me feel welcome. You, most of all.” Petra faced her, covering Dorothea’s palms with hers. “I have said it before, but it needs repeating. The small things you did warmed my heart greatly. The concern you showed was a balm to me. I had thought I would have only enemies in Fόdlan. I was not expecting to find friends... or the mate of my soul.”

Petra hesitated briefly, stare darting to the side. Her jaw flexed before looking back at Dorothea.

“My people do not share easy. I have already said as much. But I need you to understand this place was the only thing I could be calling mine. Something neither my family nor the Empire could touch. But I don’t want to be keeping anything from _you_.” Petra kissed the back of Dorothea’s hands, touch reverent. Her next words were slow and steady, devoid of the typical clumsiness that peppered her speech. “That is why I brought you here. To reveal the last of my secrets and pray you feel safe enough to do the same. So please, Mo Grá... Tell me the worries you keep.”

“Where would you have me start?” Dorothea asked, voice soft. Petra blinked up at her with a tremulous smile.

“Wherever you are wishing to begin.”

The simple statement cut fast and deep. Dorothea worried her bottom lip between her teeth before leaning against the cavern wall. The cool stone proved steadying.

“There is power in words,” Dorothea stated. She gathered her thoughts and pressed them against her tongue. They flowed from her lips in a hesitant trickle. “They never tell you how much, of course. The tiny cuts that wear at your pride. The gentle aggression of supercilious compliments accompanied by a smile. The certainty of those who claim to know your worth and are not afraid to speak it.”

Dorothea held the other woman’s measured stare.

“The problem wasn’t that I grew to believe them. It was that I refused to find a rebuttal. You must understand. Before you, I did not care how my future spouse might perceive me. All I wanted was to be taken care of. The easiest route to happiness was simply making myself palatable to any suitor I stumbled across. If love bloomed, all the better. If it didn’t, at least I was comfortable.”

“I am giving you both.” Petra frowned. “...Am I not?”

“Of course you are. And every day I thank my lucky stars that we met.” Dorothea mustered a weak laugh. “I half expect to wake on the streets, having dreamt of the wonderful princess who swept me away to her homeland. It’s almost too perfect an ending. And honestly, I didn’t anticipate a tenth of the happiness I’ve found with you.”

“Neither did I.” The Queen’s tight expression softened. “You are the greatest joy of my life. I am not wanting to think of a world where I am not knowing you.”

“And I believe you… I do. Of all the things I question, your love is not one of them.” Dorothea clutched her arms, shoulders hunching inward. “However, there will always be a part of me that whispers doubt. Not in you, but for myself. It is a multitude of voices rising in a chorus of loathing. An aria only I hear and cannot be freed from. It tells me I am not enough – that I will be the ruin of you and your family.”

“ _You_ are my family.” Petra stepped close, dark eyes flashing. “It is not being complete without you.”

“Once we are married, that will be true,” Dorothea acknowledged. “But until then I am just a woman who comes from nothing and was taught her only worth lay between her legs. My face, my voice; it is a facade of beauty that will fade with time. Should I stand by your side, what can I offer? If you name me your wife, what trouble will that decision bring?”

“These things are not important.”

“They are, Petra. Don’t pretend otherwise. I have seen far too much to fall for such pretty words. I know you do not truly believe them either.” Dorothea watched, experiencing a pang of sympathy as Petra glanced at her feet. The younger woman appeared abashed. “You said no more secrets. I agree. Because of that, I shall say this plain. I am deeply afraid of what our marriage might mean. For us and Brigid. I am not naive enough to think I can remain ignorant to the country’s affairs, nor do I wish to harden my heart as Éala did.”

Dorothea paused, reluctant to continue. But she needed to finish. For both herself and the woman she loved. Her posture straightened as she said, “That is not my way, and not who I am. I fear I will always be too weak to wear the mantle you offer. It might kill me, darling. And possibly you.”

Petra said nothing for a time. The Queen’s brow was furrowed deeply, jaw set with tension. Dorothea was concerned she had said too much when Petra sighed heavily. The shorter woman joined her in leaning against the scarred stone.

“Duke Éala was a singular woman. Admired and feared by many. Her life is a subject of much awe; an example for all of Brigid to follow.” An odd little smile crossed the Queen’s face. “But, for all the threats and posturing she made, her reign was bloodless. The only Duke in history who can be claiming this. Scholars assume she merely hid it better, but my family… We know the truth.”

Petra sent Dorothea a considering glance.

“It is not being common knowledge. But King Fionn, my ancestor, discovered her secret. He visited her isle to meet with the formidable warrior woman who was rising to power. There, he was observing the vast difference between her outward behavior and how she ruled. During his stay, Fionn took great interest in her actions and was noting them in a journal.”

“Was she aware of this?” Dorothea wondered. Petra shook her head, lips quirking higher.

“Éala’s words were sharp and cruel. She appeared to strike fast with her temper. Yet she listened to her subjects with great patience, humoring their requests if they were reasonable. Fionn wrote that she never vented upon the servants, and seemed well-liked among them. And while she threatened harsh punishment, sparingly enacted it. He thought it strange, so he devised a trap.”

The Queen turned on her feel before unsheathing her dagger. Dorothea blinked at her, confused, as her lover worried at an unblemished portion with the pointed pommel. Petra continued speaking as she diligently worked. “Fionn convinced a servant to spill wine over their heads one night. Éala was shocked but did not react with rage. So the King stood from his chair and demanded the servant be flogged. Éala was being reluctant, but she could not be directly refusing her King. Fionn insisted the servant be whipped by Éala herself – to take back her wounded pride, as he put it.”

“Did she…?”

“No. She didn’t.” Petra stopped to wipe at the stone with her hand. Flakes of rock dusted the air. Then, she stepped away and met Dorothea’s intent gaze. “Éala tossed the whip aside and collapsed into tears at the King’s feet. She begged him to forget the insult. According to Fionn, she would take the flogging herself if the King was wanting recompense. Fionn was being surprised by her outburst, but also impressed. He felt he was seeing the woman as she was for the first time.”

“Because he was,” Dorothea whispered. Clarity dawned, crisp and sharp like a morning breeze. “It had been an act. The entire time Éala had never changed from the woman she was at heart. She only feigned as such.”

“Yes. Back then, the Duke’s vied for the King’s favor and warred endlessly. Éala did not want her island to be brought into the fighting, so she wore the mask of a heartless warrior. She seeded whispers to the other Duke’s courts, telling of her cruelty and the numerous foreign soldiers who heeded her command. All lies, but they were not knowing that.” Petra chuckled deeply. “Éala’s story is a tale of resourcefulness; of acknowledging both your failings and gifts. Éala might not have been a warrior but she was clever and kind. That was her strength.”

Petra paused, staring at Dorothea gently. She carefully gathered the taller woman’s hands within hers.

“Have I ever told you when I knew my heart was yours?”

Dorothea thought for a moment, but quickly realized she couldn’t remember Petra ever telling her. She shook her head slowly. The Queen’s features softened.

“It was before the war began. You were so quick to take care of me. I had thought your compassion was a trick. But once I knew it to be real I… I was not knowing how to respond. You cared for me without any expectation of reward. That simple kindness was the most I had felt since coming to Fόdlan.” Petra averted her eyes momentarily. “I did not understand the warmth in my heart as love, then. However, I am knowing now it was the start. It was not being easy when Ingrid joined the Eagles. Watching you flatter her was gutting, though I barely understood why.”

“Petra…” Dorothea searched her lover’s face, yet found no falsehood. Heat bloomed upon her cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anything? I had no idea.”

“I was younger than you; knew myself to be foreign and strange. I was assuming you would think me silly. A child. I also was not realizing how deeply I felt until much later,” Petra explained. “But that is not why I’m telling you this now. Don’t you see? I did not love you for your beauty or the songs you sing. I loved you for your heart. The care and thought you give to all things touched me more than anything else. Just as Éala’s compassion did for Fionn.”

“Were they…?”

“No, but they struck up a friendship that blessed their families for ages to come. Today, her island stands as a gathering place for knowledge. Póg na Máthar, Duke Tadhg’s domain.”

“Mother’s Kiss,” Dorothea translated. “That’s an interesting name for an isle.”

“It was being called something different in Éala’s time – before a fierce storm sunk much of the land. What remains is what The Mother has allowed us to keep.” Petra sent Dorothea a sidelong look. “Do not be distracting me, Mo Grá. I will not be falling for it.”

“I know; it’s a reflex, I’m afraid. And I do understand what you mean. However…” Dorothea frowned at their entwined hands in melancholy. “Just because it all worked out for Éala, does not mean it will for me. What if I make a decision and it reflects poorly on you? What if my good intentions end up causing more harm?”

“Then we will be weathering that storm together." Petra's answer was quick and decisive. Dorothea brought her gaze up and took in the determined set of the woman's shoulders. "I was wrong to try and shield you from Brigid’s harshness. I know now we must be united to succeed. That is what it means to be wed. We each have our separate strengths, and we will be using those to guide our country to a glorious future. If I must be Brigid’s sword, hard and unyielding, then you will be its heart. Separately, we might fail—”

“But together we’ll thrive,” Dorothea finished. She felt the ache in her chest lessen as a burdensome weight lifted. Petra grinned brightly before she waved a hand at the wall. Below the winged crown, two circular figures were joining hands. No— _claws_. They were merlions, the same as those that decorated the Macneary crest.

“ _Fulaing an Stoirm,_ ” Petra said suddenly. “It is not translating well, I think. It means we will brave any storm that comes for our shores. To us, it is a promise of survival no matter the struggle. And that is what we will do, Mo Grá.”

“It _is_ a lovely promise.” Dorothea laughed shortly. She blinked back tears as her voice became rasped with feeling. “Oh, Petra... When you put it like that, I feel awfully ridiculous for doubting us.”

“Worry is being natural for you. This I know.” Petra nodded amiably. “That is why I will be your certainty when you are needing it, as you will be mine. One day, I am sure the wailing wind of your fears will be gone. Until then, lean on me as you need.”

“I will.” Dorothea wrapped her arms around her lover. She buried her nose within Petra’s braids. “No more fear. No more questioning. That will be my promise to you.”

“I am thinking some questions are needed. I am flawed in my judgment as any other.” Petra squeezed her tight and kissed the bare strip of Dorothea’s shoulder. “From your eyes, I will see what can be done to sustain peace. In the Empire, but also among my people. Our family will not be seeing war as we have.”

“That’s a wonderful goal. And I daresay it can be done with enough effort. Together, I’m sure we can make it a reality.” Dorothea drew away to into Petra’s face. Suddenly, she could see the future they spoke of vividly within her eyes. And it was beautiful. Head dizzy with love and hope, Dorothea drew Petra into a kiss. When their hands began to wander, elation warming their bodies as quickly as touch, her remaining hesitance drifted away. Meanwhile, two merlions observed from the wall – etched in time forevermore.

* * *

They returned to the castle in slow steps, heels straying into the rising tide. Their fingers were laced throughout the journey, refusing to separate even for a moment. They did not speak, but Dorothea didn’t feel it was necessary. They understood each other deeper now and faced the hidden insecurities that marked them both. The silence between them was comfortable; disparate from the oppressive weight experienced previously. Was this what it felt like to be completely honest? If so, Dorothea could become accustomed to this.

She watched Petra in her periphery, admiring the woman’s features. The gentle slope of her cheeks. The muscular build of her torso. The rich hue of her eyes; deep, dark, and soulful. Dorothea loved her with an intensity that grew impossibly stronger by the day. There had been many striking and noble people who could have stolen her heart. Some who came dangerously close, once upon a time. Yet as they strolled beneath the moonlight Dorothea did not dream of what might have been. Her heart belonged solely to Petra.

“The night is being brisk,” the Queen commented idly. “A cold wind sweeps through. It is said a stern breeze means harsh weather for Fόdlan – the Mother’s chilling sigh.”

“I suppose it should be winter there right about now.” Dorothea glanced across the sea. “Edie must be having kittens. She despises cold weather. I wonder how the Professor feels about it.”

“Kittens?” Petra cocked her head. “I did not know the tiniest professor was expecting.”

“It’s a saying, darling. As in, Edie will be thoroughly displeased.” Dorothea swung their clasped hands, blissfully at ease. She watched fondly as comprehension blossomed over Petra’s face.

“I have understanding. Then yes, she will be having _several kittens_.” A look of sympathy appeared on her features. “The cold is a formidable enemy. I am not missing the winters in Garreg Mach. They were… unpleasant.”

“I remember. You always looked so uncomfortable when winter rolled around. I was curious why you put up with it.” Dorothea blinked as something occurred to her. She glanced at her lover curiously. “Didn’t Edie give you leave to return to Brigid? I recall a few visits you made, but you never stayed at length.”

“She did, yes.” Petra fell silent for a time. Strangely, she looked uncharacteristically reticent. “...I considered it. I had been readying to leave since Edelgard told me I could. But I decided against it.”

“Why is that? Not that I'm complaining mind you," Dorothea quickly amended. "I'm just trying to understand your reasoning. After all, you were obviously homesick."

“If I am honest… I stayed because of you.”

Dorothea drew back in surprise. She stared at Petra, dumbfounded. The other woman paid her little attention, too fascinated with the night sky. Yet Dorothea could see a flush running along her nose.

“My bags were already being packed. A ship was arranged for me, and I had already told Edelgard my goodbyes.” Petra shook her head ruefully. “Then, I heard you were choosing to stay instead of returning to Enbarr. Knowing this, my heart decided for me.”

“That infatuated with me, were you?” Dorothea asked, only partly teasing. However, Petra’s expression did not lighten with mirth. She stared at Dorothea levelly.

“It was being part of it. But I was also seeing something that concerned me. You stayed, I knew, because you had worry for her. Am I wrong?”

“Edie, you mean.” Dorothea’s smile slipped away. “Yes… I did stay because of her. Emperor or not, she was still a woman with far too much responsibility on her shoulders. I could see it hanging over her like a pall – the darkness she subsumed to accomplish her goals. She was so much worse then; quick to harsh action and unwilling to slip free of the role she shackled herself to. I thought if I stayed, I might be able to help her bear some of it. Not just the war, but the grief she refused to acknowledge.”

“And you did. I was seeing it every day.” Petra bobbed her head. Her eyes glittered with pride. “You were helping greatly. For Edelgard and everyone you cared for. Yet I was also knowing you did not show yourself the same amount of care. I wanted to do that for you, Dorothea. Whether in friendship or love did not matter, so long as I could be taking the weight you carry.”

“You’re in rare form tonight. Saying all these romantic things...” Dorothea giggled, somewhat bashful. She smiled at her feet, heart fluttering. “But I’m touched you thought of me. It’s not something I’ve ever had. Not like this.”

“You are deserving it. And as I have said, I intend to be having full honesty.” A trace of uncertainty flitted across Petra's face. "There is… still being the issue of Duke Tiernan. We must discuss what is to be done with him."

“I thought you already came to a decision with the other Dukes.” Dorothea frowned, sobering at the change in subject.

“I refused to decide. Much as they pressed, I was not wishing to go forward without your true thoughts.” Petra looked at her from beneath her lashes, apologetic. “It was foolish of me to ask in front of them. Tadhg is knowing his place, but Neachtan was far too bold. I scolded him after you left.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“He disrespected you – the woman I love and will one day wed. That is unacceptable.” The Queen jutted her jaw stubbornly. “I meant what I was saying, then. I will not move forward without hearing your opinion. Tiernan is a viper, but he is a sleeping one. There is time to decide.”

“Which solution are you leaning towards?” Dorothea scanned her lover’s expression carefully. Petra’s cheek twitched with an unknown emotion. After a moment, the Queen pressed her lips tight.

“I do not wish to be killing him unjustly. Wars were started for less years ago. But if I allow him to live, I am risking much. He could be having more support than I know. He could have been the true face of the coup, and not Dubheasa. There is much I am not knowing.”

“And he still refuses to respond?”

“Yes. And because of that, the situation is having great difficulty.” Frustration darkened her brow. “Neachtan was having logic before. If he is innocent, why does he hide? Perhaps it is as Tadhg said before, or perhaps not. I cannot say, and Tiernan will not dare meet me for fear of a direct challenge.”

“I don’t understand why that is. You’re far from an unreasonable tyrant.”

“You must remember that I have spent much of my recent years in Fόdlan. The Dukes knew me only as a child. Now, they are seeing someone they do not recognize." Petra’s eyes creased with sadness. “Grandfather was being the same at first. My time there has made me… unknowable to them. If Tadhg is being right about his reasons, I can understand Tiernan’s hesitance.”

“Surely he knows that his life would be forfeit should he continue like this?”

“Maybe so. But this way, his family can hold onto the land. Had he met me in a formal challenge and lost, their title would be mine to claim. Suspicious as his actions seem, Tiernan would not be taking such a risk.”

“Yet because he refuses to speak with you…” Dorothea trailed off.

“I can only be assuming the worst,” Petra confirmed. She appeared to read the anxiety upon Dorothea’s expression and exhaled thickly. “It is likely he feels a quiet death is for the best, even if it means being cast from the Mother’s embrace. She is not being kind to oath-breakers.”

“There must be some way for this to end peaceably. If he is genuine in his innocence, it sits ill with me to think of him dying for nothing.” Dorothea worried her bottom lip in thought. Loathe as she was to admit it, the situation did not look kind for Duke Tiernan. His financial support of a usurper was unquestionable. And his refusal to submit to Petra was all the more incriminating. Still, if he could not be convinced to meet the Queen… Dorothea drew up short, a sudden notion occurring to her. She squeezed Petra’s hand to catch her attention.

“Perhaps he won’t meet with you directly,” she began. “But what if I were to go in your place? I could be your envoy – communicate his side of this tawdry affair and bring you back his response.”

“You?” Petra squinted, appearing thrown by the offer. “And possibly place you in danger? _Dodhéanta_. I cannot, Mo Grá. Please do not be asking me.”

“Think about it, love. Maybe he won’t meet with you or the Dukes for fear of his life, but I would pose little threat to him. Well… that he knows of.” Dorothea flipped back her hair blithely. She flashed a confidant grin, feeling more assured than she had in days. “I could give him the chance to say his piece. If I’m convinced of his innocence, we arrange for a formal apology. If not, then I return with his death warrant.”

“And if he is proving to be the latter?” Petra pursed her mouth with displeasure. Her dark eyes burned with worry. “I do not want to chance him using you against me. Should his soldiers attack—”

“I am a mage who has faced kings and dragons,” Dorothea said firmly. She straightened to her full height, smoothing down the folds of her dress. “I have faced the gnawing hunger of poverty and the evils of black-hearted men. I hold the ear of an Emperor; the confidence of her Prime Minister; the friendship of the greatest generals in the Empire... and the heart of a Queen. What threat can this frail man hold compared to me?”

After she was done, it occurred to Dorothea that this speech was not just for Petra alone. It was also for her; a reclaiming of her place in the world and a reminder of her worth. She was someone who was valued by formidable warriors and rulers alike. For once in a long time, the insecurity that lurked like a shade did not reveal itself. It stayed where it should be – forgotten amid the warmth of self-love. Dorothea watched, pulse thrumming, as Petra stared at her for a time. Her lover’s face was filled with wonder. Then, the younger woman chuckled faintly before nodding once.

“These are all being incontestable truths… Very well. You have convinced me, Mo Grá.” In a startling move, the Queen knelt upon the sand. She kissed the back of Dorothea’s fingers. “Be going with my blessing. _Lig do na tonnta páirt a ghlacadh romhat._ ”

The traditional Brigid farewell was familiar, and Dorothea took strength from her words. She drew Petra to her feet, kissing her temple. She spoke clearly and without pause.

“ _Go mbeifeá ann i gcónaí chun fáilte a chur romham abhaile, a ghrá._ ”

* * *

Dorothea wasn’t sure what to expect when she reached Oileán Béir. She had only skirted its shore and never stepped foot upon the land proper. The island also had the unfortunate distinction to be the location where Petra was attacked by a shark. Divine messenger or no, Dorothea did not hold fond memories of the incident. As she stared at the sheer cliffs that composed the landmass, her past unease flared to life. There was something foreboding about its profile, as if the island would come alive and crush her within its rocky fangs.

She clutched her shawl, standing steady atop the prow. The crashing waves threatened to topple her, but she had grown sure-footed throughout the months. Her frame was tall and unbending as the ship approached the docks. She noted the staggered cluster of stairs that wound up the cliffs. Unlike the other isles, Béir did not have a shore that neatly waded into the sea. Its coastline was towering and jagged; akin to a line of spears. It rose in sheets of sheer, dark rock before flattening into a livable plateau. Why anyone had chosen to make a settlement here was beyond her knowledge. Yet she couldn’t deny its location and geography lent to a certain advantage. She vaguely recalled it being one of the last islands to fall beneath imperial onslaught.

As Dorothea departed her vessel, joined by a contingent of royal guards, she strained to keep her emotions hidden. It was a daunting thing to be so far away from her love and the familiar shore of Sionnach. Confident as she had been, Dorothea couldn't be sure Tiernan would respond positively. Or take her audience at all. Perhaps she would be greeted with blades rather than words. However, she had come this far. Better to try than wonder at the possibilities. Dorothea steeled her nerves as she ascended the rickety stairs. The creaked beneath her weight in ominous groans.

At the top, where impenetrable rock gave way to welcoming greenery, an armored escort stood in wait. She did not recognize the floral crest that painted their shields but assumed it belonged to Duke Tiernan. The man who stood ahead of these warriors was slight and spindle-limbed. His sharp cheeks pulled into a humorless smile.

“ _ **Do my eyes deceive, or are these Macneary warriors before me?**_ ” The man’s tone was pleasantly mild, but his twitching hands belied his true mood. “ _ **Forgive me, but I must ask you to leave. Duke Tiernan is not of a mind to host guests. Tell Queen Petra his answer has not changed.**_ ”

“ _ **I wish to hear from Duke Tiernan directly**_ ,” Dorothea began. She concentrated on her words, striving not to slip. “ _ **I will not leave before I gather the knowledge my Queen seeks.**_ ”

“ _ **And who are you to demand anything?**_ ” The man’s gaze flit to her. He scanned her body with unmasked distaste. “ _ **You speak our language but your features are Adrestian. That fair skin and those pale eyes… You’re the Queen’s woman. Her imperial whore.**_ ”

Dorothea nearly flinched. She was not accustomed to hearing such spiteful words in Brigid. Cursory looks and hesitant conversations, but never outright vitriol. She swallowed her unease before clearing her throat.

“ _ **I hold the Queen’s authority and carry her will. Address me as you desire, but know it would be the same as insulting her.**_ ” Dorothea stepped forward, unwilling to be cowed. “ _ **She requests Duke Tiernan to state his intentions, as well as his involvement in the uprising Dubheasa had planned.**_ ”

“ _ **What good would that do? The outcome is already decided.**_ ” The man’s facade fractured briefly. He grimaced as he said the next words. “ _ **We are not foolish. With Dubheasa dead, Duke Tiernan knows he will be taken for a conspirator. No matter the truth, his life is forfeit, as is ours. Treason can only mean death.**_ ”

“ _ **You speak of the Duke as if he were innocent**_ ," Dorothea observed. The man frowned, staring at her rigidly.

“ _ **It is not my place to divulge the Duke’s affairs. Innocent or not, nothing will change.**_ ”

“ _ **With respect, you are wrong. The reason I came here was to discover the truth. I refuse to leave until I have that.**_ ” She gestured to her armed escort. “ _ **And so will they. So you can either step aside and show allegiance to your Queen or test my patience and shed needless blood. It's your decision.**_ ”

The man’s eyes fluttered with surprise. He peered at her guards warily, but still did not move. Dorothea tried again, appealing to his sense of duty.

“ _ **I understand you have your orders. I have my own. And I know you wish to protect your liege. That is my aim as well.**_ ” She gestured to herself, fingers cupped above her heart. “ _ **Should you allow me to pass, I promise to hear Duke Tiernan’s position. If I am content with what I hear, I will return to the Queen and advise mercy. As I see it, no one needs to die over a misunderstanding.**_ ”

“ _ **...And she would listen?**_ ” The servant glanced behind him, shifting atop the grass. “ _ **You can guarantee mercy will be shown?**_ ”

“ _ **I can. But only if I find him to be free of culpability. Allow me to seek an audience, and I promise you I will do my best to end this peacefully.**_ ”

The man shared a look with the soldiers to his back. For a split second, Dorothea was worried he would beckon them forward. Then, the servant’s tight posture collapsed and he heaved a sigh.

“ _ **I do not know the answers you will find. I am but a humble servant to his lordship. But if he can be spared from the Queen’s wrath…**_ ” The man gestured her towards the manor glimpsed in the distance. “ _ **I will escort you to him. Please, follow.**_ ”

Dorothea obliged, the cadence of her heart slowing. Relief crashed over her like a wave as she followed the man to the manor. It was a small success, but a welcome one. The hardest part was still to come. She didn’t quite know what she would say to the Duke as of yet, but she trusted her own judgment. Dorothea had spoken with various men of noble bearing, each as pompous and proud and the last. She had become practiced at taking the measure of a man at a glance. Tiernan would be no different.

He did not live as opulently as she had expected. Tiernan’s home was modest, for all his supposed wealth, and did not smack of the same lavish expense Neachtan draped himself with. To her surprise, the Macneary coat of arms hung proudly over his hearth beside the Duke’s. Dorothea noted this detail in silence as the servant guided her to sit within the audience chamber. He left with a quick murmur to the guards, departing to fetch the Duke. Dorothea waited patiently, straight-backed and steady in her chair.

She did not need to wait long. Just a few moments later, the servant returned with another man. He was elderly and tottering, using the servant as a crutch. His lined features betrayed nothing, but Dorothea could tell his body was straining with each movement. She frowned, concerned, as he neared. The man did not look well enough to be standing, in truth. His skin was sallow, cheeks sunken, and veins raised. Yet Tiernan stared at her evenly once he sat.

“So you are the girl stirring up such turmoil. Pretty, stubborn, and who sings like a siren… Of course it would be someone such as you. The Macnearys were always weak to the arts." His voice was not rasped, nor thickly accented. Despite his appearance, it was easily discerned. Dorothea assumed his island’s trade with Adrestia required it of him. “You’ve caused quite a fuss coming here. My man tells me you wish to hear of what happened with Dubheasa. I don’t know what good that’ll do, but I suppose I lose nothing by humoring you.”

“Then you’ll tell me what happened? Between you and Duke Dubheasa.”

Tiernan did not respond immediately. He looked at Dorothea with narrow eyes before tipping his head in subtle acceptance.

“Whatever answers you seek will be yours. I have little desire to obfuscate now. It would be futile regardless. Truthfully, when I spotted the Macneary sails I had assumed my time had come. I don’t know whether it is disappointment I feel the most, or confusion.”

“You wanted to die?” Dorothea drew back, momentarily surprised. The Duke did not react visibly to her question. He just folded his fingers atop his lap.

“Want is very different to need. My death is required of the Queen. I know this much." Tiernan lifted his shoulders dismissively. It stunned Dorothea to see how cavalier he was being. His candidness took her aback. “I have betrayed her by backing Dubheasa. The trouble he caused was wrought at my behest. There can be no denying that.”

“So you fully admit to knowing his intentions.” Dorothea hid the balling of her fist within her dress folds. She hadn’t wanted this outcome, but… “Tell me plainly, Duke Tiernan. Do you admit to treason? Did you intend for your Queen to be murdered?”

“I admit to treason.” His words were blunt as a drum beat. It resonated in Dorothea’s ears and curtailed her speech. Before she could gather herself, the Duke continued. “Yet the Queen was not meant to die. I would have never backed Dubheasa had that been his aim.”

“Explain yourself, please,” Dorothea pressed. Her brow furrowed with consternation. “Are you saying Dubheasa tricked you or…?”

“I am saying he never intended to kill her.” Tiernan paused to wet his lips. “Dubheasa… was many things. Ambitious, bold, foolhardy. But not a murderer. He confided that he would spare her life once he defeated her.”

“That sounds oddly merciful for a would-be usurper. What was his aim?”

“I believe he fancied himself in love with the Queen.” Tiernan smiled wryly as Dorothea blinked at this. “That’s a surprise to you. But from what I could tell, the sentiment was genuine – if misplaced. The fool got it into his head that she would be impressed if he defeated her in a direct challenge.”

“That’s… an incredibly silly reason to start an uprising over,” Dorothea remarked blandly. “And what if he lost? Did he not consider that?"

“Dubheasa was confident. Overly so. It proved his undoing, as you already know.” Tiernan waved his hand in an idle motion. “He never thought she would discover his plans or use her right of blood. I think he assumed she would wait for him to act first. A terrible waste. Dubheasa was an excellent soldier and very well-liked. Had he been more level-headed, this would have never happened.”

“So he was a lovelorn idiot with too much pride. I can understand that much. But where do you come in?” Dorothea watched his features, hawk-eyed. “Duke Tadhg was under the impression you funded Dubheasa as part of a dowry. If you knew Dubheasa’s intent why allow your granddaughter to be betrothed to him?”

“Nothing more than a ruse, as you might put it,” Tiernan admitted. His eyes fell to his lap. “And a way to ensure my family's future. I am old and ailing. My only son was killed in the war with Adrestia, leaving me only my daughters. Because of this, I have no one to pass my title and land to when I’m gone. Dubheasa promised that when he was king he would allow my eldest daughter to inherit the title of Duke.”

“You did all this for a promise of inheritance?” Dorothea asked, unable to hide her incredulity. The Duke’s mouth tightened.

“You would not understand. Béir has belonged to my family since the land was first settled. This is our _home_. I would not see it taken from them when I die." Tiernan's face darkened with frustration. "Our laws state that only warriors can rule as Duke. My girls cannot claim as such and so they will be passed over for my distant cousin. Perhaps it was a desperate gambit on my part to trust Dubheasa, but I was left with little choice."

“You weren’t without options. You could have asked the Queen, for one.”

“These are ancient laws. Unalterable. If not, why else would the kings of old enact them? There have been exceptions, of course. But my girls are no Duke Éala.” The elderly man shook his head emphatically. “No. I could not beg at her feet nor do I intend to now. I still have some Brigid pride in me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You did all this for your family, didn’t you? If you die like this—”

“Should I die in the Queen's challenge, my land and wealth will be taken by her. Should I die in shadow, at least what I have left will be given to my girls. I may not be able to give them Béir – not as I wished – but it is better than nothing."

“I can’t believe you have the audacity to orchestrate this farcical coup but not enough bravery to apologize properly." Dorothea stared at him archly; exasperated. "Just get over yourself and plead forgiveness. Tell her what you told me.”

“She would only hear my treachery. The reasons are immaterial,” Tiernan insisted. “Tell her what I’ve said, if you must, but it will change nothing. She is duty-bound by the Mother to take my life.”

Dorothea squinted at him, patience waning. It would serve the old codger right to be killed for this idiotic plan. However… she wasn’t unsympathetic to his reasons. It was clear as day that family meant a great deal in Brigid. Perhaps more-so than Fόdlan. And she was so tired of everything defaulting to bloodshed. Dorothea had promised that she would find a way for this to end in peace, so that was what she would do. Abruptly, Petra’s previous words rang in her head.

_‘The care and thought you give to all things touched me more than anything else. Just as Éala’s compassion did for Fionn.’_

Compassion... Was it truly so easy? Dorothea rose to her feet and approached the Duke. He watched her with a leery expression but did not stop her approach. She leaned down to touch his thin shoulder.

“You love your family, that much is evident,” Dorothea spoke. Her tone was low and steady. “As I love mine. I would do anything if it meant Petra would stay happy and whole. Were I in your position, I cannot say I would have done any different. Even trusting a fool and overthrowing my sovereign.”

Tiernan looked away, jaw clenched tight. Still, he did not move away. Dorothea recalled the tapestry on his wall.

“It must have been a great struggle to choose between your loyalty to the crown and your family’s well-being. Petra told me you were a stalwart supporter of the Macnearys.”

“I am," Tiernan said quickly. He frowned as if chagrined by his outburst. “I did not wish for Queen Petra to be hurt by Dubheasa. As I said, I would have never agreed with that. It would not sit well with me to see Eagan in mourning. Once was enough... But you are correct. I could not put my loyalty to them above my daughters.”

“And do you think Petra would be a stranger to this decision? That she could not empathize?” Dorothea crouched until their eyes were level. “She was forced to abandon her home to save her country. In Fόdlan, Petra backed an imperial rebellion to ensure the safety of Brigid. Perhaps the scale was far larger, but the concept is the same. Time and time again she placed her family and home above everything else, including any petty notions of revenge upon the Empire. Do you think she would be without sympathy?"

Tiernan said nothing, but she could read the conflict in his dark stare. Dorothea pressed onward.

“Your crime is undeniable, that much is true. I cannot ensure you’ll go without punishment. But Petra is not unreasonable. Tell her your story. Tell her about your family. I promise you it will make all the difference. The only thing you would lose is pride.”

“And what do I have to gain?” Tiernan questioned. His voice was barely a murmur. Dorothea smiled, sad but encouraging.

“The very thing you sought to attain in the first place. Perhaps you don’t believe me, but isn’t trying better than rolling over to die?”

His brow furrowed at this. A tense silence followed as he appeared to be processing her request. Just as she was certain he would decline, Tiernan nodded his head.

“...If my daughters can be granted their birthright, then I will beg for forgiveness. I do not want to die with what might have been lingering on my thoughts." The Duke glanced up at Dorothea hesitantly. "And I do not imagine you would have come all this way to trick me. I will choose to believe you, Lady of Adrestia."

“Dorothea, please. I’ve never held a title, and will not for some time yet.” She relaxed, tension melting away. A genuine smile crossed her lips. “Come then, Duke Tiernan. The Queen awaits.”

* * *

There were very few moments in her life where Dorothea could freely admit to experiencing joy. The short time she had spent in Brigid held the majority of them; a sad but unalterable fact. But perhaps that was for the best, Dorothea considered. And as Tiernan knelt at Petra’s feet, professing his crime and asking for clemency, she was not filled with uncertainty or fear. Dorothea watched on with pride as her Queen heard his peace without nary an interruption.

Eventually, Petra bid the man to stand before declaring he would need to repay the crown by relinquishing his title to his eldest daughter. Dorothea could not stop herself from beaming as the man stared at the Queen, bewildered. He looked overcome with emotion but quickly hid it beneath a bow. The Duke would still pay for his actions with a healthy portion of his coffers and a minimizing of his island's authority, but his family was secure. And it was obvious that was all he cared about anyway.

It had all ended far better than she had imagined. From the awed and grateful look Petra sent her after, it seemed her lover thought that as well. She pulled Dorothea aside once Tiernan was shuffled away by the nearby guards. Her grin was bright as the midday sun.

“You are wonderful,” Petra said breathlessly. “My beautiful and kind Dorothea… I was having faith, but I did not expect…”

“I didn’t do anything so grand.” Dorothea flushed beneath the praise. She cleared her throat, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Only did what anyone would have done. Honestly, I’m sure he would have eventually come to his senses regardless.”

“I am not being so sure. Grandfather has always said he was too bull of head to be listening.” Petra leaned up to kiss Dorothea’s cheek. “But you, Mo grá... You made him listen. Your _heart_ did.”

“Perhaps it did. But only because you gave me the courage to try.” Dorothea fingered the long tumble of Petra’s braided strands. She tried to communicate her adoration through the caress. “You made me realize that being myself – my _truest_ self – was not something to fear. I can’t say I’ll never doubt my strengths again, but I think it’ll be easier to see the positives more often.”

“I am being glad. It would be good for you to be loving yourself just as deeply as I am loving you.” Petra's eyes crinkled, shining with happiness. She looked as if she were going to say more when someone called her from near the castle entrance. It was Eagan, beckoning her to his side. Petra huffed shortly. "Forgive me, Mo grá. I am thinking grandfather wishes to discuss what happened. I will return when I can."

“There's no rush, darling. I’ll wait for you here." Dorothea hugged her tight before pushing her gently towards the former king. Petra was visibly reluctant, but with a parting nod she set off. Dorothea watched her stride away, mouth still pulled into a jubilant grin.

“Exemplary work, Lady Dorothea.”

Dorothea blinked as Duke Tadhg sidled next to her. She looked at him, befuddled by his sudden appearance. She hadn’t noticed him at all. The man bowed at the waist respectfully.

“I was beginning to fear Tiernan was a lost cause, but you proved me wrong." The man's lips tugged in what Dorothea assumed to be a smile. It was hard to decipher from his placid features. "As well as Duke Neachtan. He was fuming as we left for the docks, but that is no great surprise. He had hoped to take Tiernan’s place as Duke of Béir.”

“How would…?” Comprehension dawned as Dorothea recalled what Tiernan mentioned earlier. “Tiernan’s distant cousin, the one who inherit over his daughters; is it Neachtan?”

“That he is. Queen Petra was not unaware of this either. I assume that was partly why she was so hesitant to listen to his demands. The Queen may be young, but not naive. That bodes well.” Tadhg glanced towards the form of Eagan in the distance. “She takes after her grandfather in some ways, but I mostly see her grandmother in her. The King chose well in his wife. And, it seems, so did our new Queen.”

“That’s generous of you to say, but that’s still to be decided.”

“Is it?” Tadhg turned his head to her. His stare was sharp then; analytical. “I think we both know it’s an inevitability. Because of that, I would like you to consider visiting Póg na Máthar soon.”

“Your island?” Dorothea took a step away in suspicion, unsure of what he was offering. “Why?”

“Every island and governing Duke has their function. The… ‘Kiss’, as you would say, is home to Brigid’s collection of knowledge. A spiraling tower, dedicated to sharing the world's secrets with the Mother and Her Children." He lifted a brow meaningfully. “A future Queen could learn much from such a place. It has much to teach her about country she will rule. And perhaps... she might be sharing knowledge of her own.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about Fόdlan.”

“As well as its new Emperor," Tadhg added. He must have seen her reluctance because he quickly elaborated. "I am not asking for state secrets. Merely, what you have already seen and experienced. What truly happened during the war between the Empire and your church is also of interest to us.”

“I can’t divulge everything. I’m fairly certain Edie... Edelgard obscured some rather important details.” Dorothea worried her bottom lip as she spoke. “The Kiss and this 'collection' of yours, what purpose does it serve? Spying?"

“We serve Brigid and the Mother. As Duke, I guide the Queen with the knowledge my island has gathered. But in the end, it is she who carries the Mother’s will. That said, we have been known to _observe_ when needed.” Tadhg withdrew with another bow. “Give it some thought. With someone as well-connected as yourself, I am certain you can serve Brigid as more than just a lovely actress. After all, it would be prudent to have one Queen hold the axe while the other prevents its swing.”

The Duke swept away discreetly, vanishing into a passing cluster of guards. He was nondescript enough to go without notice and Dorothea realized that was likely the point. It was somewhat off-putting to learn of a spy network in Brigid, but she could recognize the practical purpose of such a thing. She was fairly certain that was how the bulk of Edie’s war was won. At the thought, it occurred to her that she had yet to pen a letter to her friend. It was going to be a lengthy endeavor; pages upon pages of thoughts about these recent events. Most of it was certain to be a rambling mess of feelings, but she knew Edie wouldn’t mind. None of her friends did.

Dorothea stirred from these musings as she spotted Petra jogging back to her. The other woman was smiling broadly, radiant and brimming with excitement. It was contagious, and Dorothea felt warmth flood the crevices of her heart where loneliness used to dwell. In her head, she began composing an addendum to her friend – illustrating the importance of standing firm amid a sudden storm. But also a reminder of softer things.

_...Most of all, Edie, don't be afraid to reach for what you want. There is no shame in selfishness every now and then. That's what I've learned from all this. Reaching for happiness should never be a struggle; not for you or me. I think I said something similar before, but it could bear repeating. This time, I promise not to forget. So tell me again, honestly and truly, that you do not want to marry your dashing general and I will leave the matter be. As for me, I will wed my Queen and not feel a lick of fear. For beneath the waters, under the crashing waves and howling wind, I have found peace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so our Brigid tale comes to a close. For now, at least. This was a joy to write (even if it did give me some trouble along the way lol) and I'm happy I wrote this. I wanted to explore Doropetra/Brigid deeper back when I did TToC, but never found the time. I hope everyone liked my attempt at archipelago politics and intrigue! And our lovely ladies of course. I always wanted to explore the facets of Dorothea's character that I glossed over in TWtD. With it being an Edie tale, I wasn't sure she would be privy to the true extent of Dorothea's insecurity/self-loathing. Here, I could finally face it head-on and explore her dynamic with Petra. Speaking of our Queen, I wanted to characterize her deeper as well. I hope you all like the headcanons I included because I've been sitting on these since I wrote TToC. I hope this happen ending was fulfilling! Thank you for reading and I appreciate any thoughts you might have - AdraCat


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